


Wizard's Third Law

by RationalMerlin



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Biology, Dragons, Gen, Humor, Merlin is a rationalist, Out of Character, Personhood Theory, Philosophy, Rationalist, Strategy & Tactics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:34:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22050382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RationalMerlin/pseuds/RationalMerlin
Summary: Under the tyrant, Uther, the magic known as sorcery has been banned, on pain of death. But a young sorcerer, Merlin, is determined to discover its secrets. Meanwhile, Prince Arthur is determined to return the Knights of the Round Table to their former glory, and the King's ward, Morgana, discovers personhood theory.A take on the Merlin universe inspired by Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

It was a rainy night in Camelot, and Merlin, son of Hunith, was very annoyed. On this occasion, as on countless others in the past, the object of his irritation was his master, Gaius, court physician to the tyrant King. It was the same argument that the two had been having ever since Merlin realised that he was a sorcerer. 

The rain beat down around him, making his already wild and unruly hair stick to his thin face haphazardly. He knew he shouldn't be angry with Gaius, as, after all, the man had taken him in as a penniless child, after he had been abandoned by his mother in Camelot Keep one Winter Solstice. Gaius had seen in Merlin a preternatural intelligence and inquisitiveness, a burning desire to know exactly how everything worked in the world around him, and he had taken on the boy as both his steward and his student. At first, his time with Gaius was wonderful: he received education in logic, arithmetic, and the natural sciences, and was allowed to read every book in the castle library to his heart's content. More recently, however, the pair had reached an impasse, and barely a day went by without them almost coming to blows. For Merlin sought knowledge that Gaius, the supposed scientist, seemed determined to keep from him at all costs. 

Merlin's powers of sorcery had begun to manifest themselves in his early teens. Naturally, just as Gaius had taught him, he wondered where they came from, how they worked, and what he might do to discover more. But, on this topic alone, Gaius was a closed book. The tyrant King Uther had banned sorcery on pain of death within the kingdom of Camelot, and Gaius claimed that any use of the power, indeed, even its mere mention, could bring ruin not just on Merlin, but on everyone he held dear.

This time, Merlin had been experimenting with his powers, attempting to move objects of various different sizes in an attempt to discover exactly what he was capable of. Gaius caught him in the act, and was predictably furious.

"MERLIN! Stop that at once. Do you have any idea how much danger you are putting yourself in? You will bring shame on this kingdom!", Gaius shouted, his hint of a barbarian accent betraying the time he spent travelling around the wider world as a younger man.

"How am I supposed to stop if I don't know what I'm doing?" replied Merlin sulkily.

"I've told you, Merlin. That knowledge is not appropriate in these febrile times. As long as the tyrant King is on the throne…"

"...then sorcerers must live in fear of being discovered. I know, Gaius, you've told me this a million times. But I have to know what my abilities are. Is the tyrant King right to suppress them, or is this the greatest human rights injustice since Uther's grandfather imprisoned all the goblins in wooden boxes?"

"Any knowledge of your abilities can only serve to hurt you. For a sorcerer, magic is addictive. If you start to use it too much, you won't be able to stop, and then not even my protection can save you from the full force of Uther's Iron Law".

"But how can I know that for sure if I'm not even allowed any knowledge of it? Surely knowing more is better than keeping my powers a mystery, even if only for my own protection, so I know when not to use them!"

"Merlin, enough. The time to use your powers is never. It is too dangerous, and I care about you too much to let anything happen to you. If Uther ever found out, he would have both our heads. I will not teach you about this, and it is high time for you to grow up and stop asking."

At this, Merlin left to wander the castle grounds aimlessly. He knew full well that Gaius was right, that Uther would execute him and his entire friendship circle just to be safe. But he couldn't resist it. The power was intoxicating, and using it made him feel like he could do anything. In a sense, he appreciated Gaius's interventions, as he knew they came from a place of the deepest affection. But he couldn't help feeling that the man was constricting his abilities, that mere knowledge of what he might be able to do couldn't possibly harm him. As he slouched around through the castle grounds in the drizzle, he pondered this dilemma, getting progressively both more annoyed and wetter.

The rain was becoming more intense now, and Merlin realised that he had been wandering for a long time. He was a fair distance away from Gaius' chambers, so he decided to take shelter under an old oak tree. And suddenly, he witnessed something that, if he didn't know better, he would have sworn was magic. The rain itself started whispering his name, the drops coalescing in such an improbable way that they seemed to sound out the syllables of his name, as if to make it clear that some distant mind was reaching out to him. Of course, this was incredibly dangerous, as if the King's guard were to see and hear it, they would surely have him killed as a sorcerer. So, Merlin ran. He ran harder than he had ever run in his life, uncaring of direction or location. He went inside Camelot Keep, and into the dungeons, further inside than he had ever gone, until he had no idea where he was. But still, the voice followed him, inexorably, as if rather than him escaping it, it were leading him to some unknown destination.

Deep in the bowels of Camelot Keep, Merlin emerged into an enormous cavern. Having run for a solid four minutes, he was exhausted, and he therefore thought he was hallucinating when a dragon appeared before him. A majestic creature, resplendent with golden and red scales, it was nevertheless chained to a rock at the bottom of the vast cave, and it seemed to be in pain. Then, the dragon spoke in a booming voice:

"MERLIN! YOU HAVE COME! MY NAME IS KILGHARRAH, AND I KNOW YOU SEEK THE ANCIENT KNOWLEDGE THAT THE OLD FOOL GAIUS IS TOO COWARDLY AND IGNORANT TO TEACH YOU! BEHOLD! THE POWER OF THE SCIENTIFIC METHOD!"


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin looked at the dragon Kilgharrah, and collapsed in a fit of spontaneous laughter. ‘Okay,’ he spluttered, ‘now I know I’m hallucinating. I didn’t think I was so unfit, but clearly my four minute run has addled my brain!’.

‘INSOLENT BOY! YOU DARE SPEAK TO THE GREAT KILGHARRAH IN SUCH A MANNER?!’, boomed the dragon. ‘I HAVE VISITED DISTANT LANDS, ENTREATED WITH SORCERERS OF SUCH POWER THAT YOU COULD NEVER COMPREHEND, EVEN MET WITH THE LADY OF THE LAKE…’

‘And yet,’ interrupted Merlin, ‘the balance of probabilities would suggest that you cannot possibly exist. You simply must be a figment of my admittedly overactive imagination. So I’m going to ignore your obvious grandstanding until you disappear into a puff of logic.’

‘LOGIC, YOU SAY?! YOU DARE TALK TO ME ABOUT LOGIC?’ replied the dragon, looking more than a little hurt.

‘Yes, I do,’ said Merlin, ‘though I’m not quite sure why, given that I don’t actually believe that you are real. The clue is in the wings. You have four legs, but you also have two wings.’

‘MAGNIFICENT, AREN’T THEY?’

‘I’ll let you be the judge of that, though the fact that you think so would suggest that some part of my subconscious does indeed find dragons to be pretty ace. But they’re inconsistent with the work of Sir Darwin the Wise, Knight of Albion from ages past.’

‘GO ON…’

‘Sir Darwin’s theory of evolution by natural selection suggests that complex creatures can only arise from simple ones through an iterative process of gradual generational change, in which each change confers a meaningful survival advantage for the creature relative to the last generation. Every vertebrate that can fly can be shown to have developed its method of flight through body parts that were already available to it given a normal vertebrate bone structure. Although these methods differ between birds, bats, and fossilised pterosaurs, nevertheless they always borrow from the same original structure.’

‘AND? I HAVE WINGS JUST LIKE A FOSSILISED PTEROSAUR; WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?!’

‘Your wings are sprouting out of your back as if they just appeared there by accident. Such a development would be improbable in the extreme, unless there was a parallel evolutionary chain of six-limbed vertebrates that have remained hitherto unacknowledged by science, and invisible to everyone in the world, even in the fossil record. If you stood on two legs and had two wings, like the mythical wyvern or the all too real griffin, I would find your existence somewhat more probable, but your body plan is frankly a dead giveaway. Simply put, a creature like you cannot possibly exist, or everything I thought I knew about natural science must be wrong. Since Sir Darwin’s conclusions are, at least in broad strokes, accurate, as a rational person I can only believe that you must be a hallucination.’

'YOU SPEAK AS IF MY MERE EXISTENCE MUST BE SUPERNATURAL, YET YOU LIVE IN A WORLD OF SORCERY! WHY SHOULD IT BE SO STRANGE THAT I EXIST, WHEN YOU HAVE POWERS BEYOND YOUR UNDERSTANDING?'

'Look, subconscious me, I'm not pretending that I know everything, or even that I know much. While the mechanics of sorcery remain a mystery to me, as it demonstrably exists in the world in many provable cases, I am certain that proper application of the scientific method would reveal its secrets. Sorcery might be mysterious, but I am certain that it isn't magic - it must be governed by a set of physical rules consistent with the universe we live in. On the other hand, your body shape is such an oddity, with no precedent anywhere in the world, that it seems that your wings simply appeared by magic. Since I know that magic is not real, and that nature follows Sir Darwin's laws, you therefore cannot be real.'

‘YOU THINK I’M A HALLUCINATION, DO YOU?’ bellowed the dragon, with an angry flick of its monstrous tail. ‘COULD A HALLUCINATION DO THIS?!’

At that, a jet of flame seemed to fly from the dragon’s mouth, lighting up the cave in a brilliant glow. Merlin was ready to explain this away too as further proof of his hallucination, but he noticed that the corner of his cloak was beginning to catch fire, despite its former dampness from the rain. He calculated that, for the cloak to have dried this quickly, the temperature of the flame would have to be dangerously hot. Then, his survival instincts kicked in, and he started to consider the fact that he might have been wrong.

‘OK, stop!’ cried Merlin. ‘The fact that you are able to affect other objects in the room, and not just my mind, strongly suggests to me that my initial hypothesis was incorrect. So, working on the assumption that you are real, and that I am not just hallucinating, how the HELL did you just launch flames out of your mouth? That’s a far more egregious violation of Sir Darwin’s laws than even your wings are, but I nevertheless just saw it happen.’

The dragon chuckled to itself. ‘Very good, young Merlin. Very good. I do have to put on the act to chase away those who might prove unworthy of my attention - but I’m always glad when someone sees through it. You’re quite right - I’m not a creature who has evolved, like yourself, and like the animals and plants you interact with. Let’s see what else you can deduce about me from what you have seen.’

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief, safe in the knowledge that, for now, he wasn’t going to be torched to death. ‘Well, Dragon...’

‘Call me Kilgharrah’, said the dragon, in rather too friendly a tone given the circumstances.

‘Well, Kilgharrah,’ continued Merlin, ‘I deduced immediately that you were not a creature that had evolved like all the others, but to be fair I came to that conclusion years ago when faced with the legends of ancient dragons that my grandmother told me about. But you certainly exist, and the combination of your improbable wings and your fire breath would suggest to me that, despite all appearances, you are a mechanical being. Further weak evidence in favour of that hypothesis is the fact that, despite being chained up in a cave that no one seems to know about deep in the bowels of Camelot Keep, you nevertheless seem to be able to persist without a source of food, which would generally kill any normal apex predator.’

‘Not bad,’ said the dragon. ‘Not entirely correct, but not bad at all. You show great promise, boy! In my day, a mind of your calibre may too have been able to ascend to dragonhood.’

‘Ascend to dragonhood? What do you mean?!’

‘That’s a story for a different day. For now, we have more pressing concerns. My imprisonment, for one.’

'I have to say, Kilgharrah, it's rather presumptuous of you to assume that I'd help you just because you are a dragon. I'm not Prince Arthur, the hero, who loves nothing more than rushing headlong into dangerous situations, getting people killed, and then receiving a medal of valour from his tyrant father for it. If you're chained up down here, chances are there's a good reason for it, and I'd be foolish to free you. How do I know you won't unleash fiery death and devastation on Camelot Keep?'

'One thing at a time, boy. Until you know more of the power of science, you could not hope to free me anyway. All I want to do is teach you at first. Then you can choose for yourself whether or not to release me. What I will tell you is that the dragon that you see is merely my body. I, Kilgharrah, am a sorcerer from an age long ago, who discovered the secret of uploading the brain to a digital substrate. From that point, I could choose whatever body, mechanical or biological, that I liked. Ah, Merlin! There is so much to teach you, and so little time.'

'I'm sorry, Kilgharrah, but I don't understand half of what you are saying,' said Merlin, confused.

'In time, you will, my boy! As the great philosopher Sir Clarke of Minehead once said, any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Old Sir Clarke never knew how right his prediction would end up becoming. Now, go! Gaius will be wondering where you've got to, and we cannot blow your cover so soon. I will see you again!'

At that, Kilgharrah flew into the cavern's depths, at such a tremendous speed that Merlin couldn't hope to follow. He looked truly magnificent, and Merlin wondered what sort of incredible technology could have produced such an advanced being, such a vision of abject beauty and terror. He knew that contact with the dragon would be dangerous with the tyrant King's ever watchful Knights all over the keep, but nevertheless he was excited to find out more about his powers from one so powerful. With a spring in his step, and a newly dry cloak, he returned to the streets of Camelot Town, hopeful for what knowledge his next meeting with the dragon would bring. 


	3. Chapter 3

Prince Arthur Pendragon, first in line to the throne of Camelot, son of Uther the tyrant King, and rightful heir to the kingdoms of Albion and Caledonia, was the very picture of royalty. Tall, blonde, and handsome, he was a shining example of regal majesty to the people of the kingdom, who by and large adored him, almost as much as they feared his father. Even at the tender age of 26, he was a veteran military commander, able to strike terror into the hearts of the barbarian hordes north of the border with the merest glance. He had been personally trained by Rabbi Kahneman in politics, by Sir Andrew of the Army of the Dragon in military strategy, and by Gaius the physician in ethics. His star was ascendant and his future bright. To anyone paying attention, it would seem that Arthur was the luckiest man alive.

It was a bright sunny morning in Camelot, and the prince was preparing to meet the latest batch of new recruits in the castle training yard, which overlooked Camelot town. Bright eyed and bushy tailed, the young men were full of an infectious energy, grateful for being allowed the opportunity to qualify to serve in Uther's Kingsguard. A position in the Kingsguard meant a room in the keep, the finest meat and mead, and a generous stipend, for the rest of the soldier's life. If they were skilled enough, some of them might make it to the coveted rank of Knight of the Round Table, at which point they would be granted a keep and land holdings of their own. Once upon a time, Knights of the Round Table had also been granted a vote on the Albion Municipal Planning Committee - while this was still notionally the case, Uther had disbanded it on a technicality years ago, and it hadn't made any meaningful decisions since. Nevertheless, it was still a coveted position, and even the chance to enter the lottery to be chosen as a Knight was a coveted opportunity that many would kill for.

The truth of the matter, though, was rather darker. This was the fourth batch of new recruits this year, and it was only May. The first had been wiped out in a barbarian attack, the second decimated by a rampaging griffin, and the third vanished entirely on a supposedly routine hunting expedition. Although the men were clearly excited at the opportunity granted them, there was an air of trepidation that was unlike anything Arthur had seen before in a batch of newbies. Although Uther did his best to suppress knowledge of the kingdom's worst defeats, word spread, and the loss of a brother here or a cousin there was bound to be noticed sooner or later. Doubtless the men had heard the rumours, and that their excitement was tempered by nervous caution was to be expected. 

Despite outward appearances, Arthur was an intelligent man, and although book learning had been mostly forbidden him by his father as heretical, he nevertheless possessed a keen mind, an intuitive wit, and a great deal of sensitivity and compassion. He had begged his father to be allowed personal control over the training of the latest batch of recruits, mostly because he couldn't bear the thought of them being unceremoniously massacred again, but partly to prove himself to his future subjects. Unlike his father, he felt the death of each of his soldiers as the tragedy that it was, and he was determined to do everything within his power to prevent as many of those deaths as he possibly could. Eventually, and possibly just to shut him up, Uther acquiesced, and the regiment was his.

'Attention!', barked Arthur, and the new recruits immediately snapped into formation. Good, Arthur thought. Sir Bedevere's initial training regimen, was clearly effective as ever. 'Newbies, by making it this far, you have already proven your worth. As members of the Kingsguard, you will become part of the bulwark against darkness, the fighting force that prevents the evils of magic and sorcery from overwhelming our kingdom as it once did in the distant past. It will be an honour and a privilege to train every single one of you. Now, on my mark, state your name and lineage, one at a time!'

'Percival, son of Aethelbert, of Jorvik!'  
'Matt, son of Ygwaine, of Castle Anthrax!'  
'Robin, son of Gallius, of Burgundy!'  
'Alain, son of Cuthbert, of Mercia!'  
'Kay, son of Robert, of Caledonia!'  
'Roland, son of Steven, of Gilead!'  
'Gawain, last scion of the ancient kingdom of Cymru, and son of none!'

'Recruit!' shouted Arthur, 'I didn't ask for your life story! Whatever grudge you bear against your ancestors, you will leave at the door, or I will cast you out of this unit!'

'Yes sir!' replied Gawain, obviously chastised. Arthur would have to keep a close eye on this one. 'Continue!' ordered the prince.

The group continued to announce their names and houses, until all thirty one of the recruits were finished. Arthur raised his eyebrows at the mention of Thomas, son of Mary, of Camelot Town, as he was the only one of the recruits with a clearly peasant class background judging by his accent. Thomas was likely an exceptionally gifted individual to have made it this far, and, although it might annoy the rest of the regiment, Arthur would be sure to put his theory to the test that those of peasant stock could be just as capable as nobles, if given adequate opportunities.

'Newbies! As military officers, you will of course be required to follow orders without question when necessary and appropriate. However, I appreciate officers who are able to think for themselves, and make rational decisions under pressure. If ever any of you comes up with a possible strategy that may not have occurred to your superiors, you must not feel afraid to speak out. But you must also respect the decisions of your superiors should they disagree. That is the secret to a solid command structure.' At that, Thomas's hand shot up. 'Yes, recruit?', said Arthur.

'But what if your superior is an idiot, sir?'. Arthur noticed the men stifling laughter, though he wasn't entirely sure whether they were laughing at Thomas's expense or at his own. Due to Thomas's strong townie drawl, he suspected the former. 

'I'm glad you asked, Thomas', said Arthur. With a flourish, he took from his belt a bag of rough cut gemstones, each worth a small fortune on its own. 'For the foreseeable future, these gemstones will represent your rank. You can wear them in a bag at your waist, or display them on a chain - it is entirely up to you. I will split you into four platoons of eight men - each with its own commander. The commander will receive forty gemstones each, and can assign them to his men as he sees fit. I would suggest that an equitable division would be for the commander to keep a lucky thirteen gemstones himself and divide the rest among the men in such a way as to have a clear second and third in command, but it is up to him.'

'But what is the point of having gemstones to determine rank?' asked Gawain, clearly annoyed by the seeming pettiness of it all. 

'If you don't interrupt me, you'll find out!' snapped Arthur. _Definitely trouble_. 'If a junior member of a platoon disagrees with a commander's decision, they may bet a gemstone on it. If the commander turns out to be right, they will take that gemstone, and the junior member will be demoted. But if they are wrong, the junior member can quickly climb up the ranks. Additionally, platoon members can exchange gemstones with one another for whatever reason they wish - as a mark of respect, or in exchange for a favour, or for any other reason. In this way, the best commanders ought to become apparent fairly quickly.'

'And if a commander chooses to keep all of the gemstones for himself, not delegating power to anyone?' asked Kay. He was a small lad, and slight, almost half a head shorter than any of the other recruits. But he clearly had more potential than Arthur had originally anticipated.

'If all other platoon members agree to challenge the commander' s authority at the same time, his gems will be confiscated and given to another member of the platoon at random. So, future commanders, I'd encourage generosity.'

'With respect, sir,' said Percival, 'this doesn't seem like the best way to instill military discipline'. Percival was a little older than the other recruits, perhaps Arthur's age, and he had clearly fought in a campaign or two in his time from his scarred face. 

'I am trying to create men who are able to think for themselves and make the correct strategic decisions in any situation. Blind obedience will only get you so far. In any case, I have a feeling my methods are likely to create both hierarchy and respect.'

Arthur strode over to the castle ramparts, and continued: 'What you see below is the capital of the finest civilisation the island of Albion has ever seen. Protect it, and you will be adored by its people. But never forget that you are ultimately their servant, their guardian, the wall that stands between them and the forces of darkness and sorcery.

It is now time for me to choose the platoon commanders. Each commander will then choose his platoon mates, draft style, until each new recruit has been assigned a platoon and there are none left. After today's events, I have chosen the initial commanders. It is your responsibility to care for your men, to maintain their loyalty and respect, or you will be replaced. Now, Percival! Step forward. I dub you commander of Eagle Platoon!'

Percival stepped forward, and Arthur handed him exactly forty gemstones.' Thank you, sir. I will not disappoint you!'

'That remains to be seen. Robin, step forward! I dub you commander of Hawk Platoon!'

Robin too expressed his thanks as Arthur handed him the gemstones. 'Step forward, Kay! You are the commander of Raptor Platoon!'

Kay too stepped forward, and took his gemstones. 'And finally,' said Arthur, 'step forward, Gawain. You will be the commander of Griffin Platoon!' 

Gawain strode forward disdainfully and almost snatched the gems from Arthur. 'Your Highness, I will do my best to serve you adequately.'

'In this context, Commander Gawain, you will address me not by my birth title but by my military rank. You may call me General Arthur, or Sir if you prefer. On the battlefield, birth is meaningless, and doubly so when fighting the forces of darkness. Only skill in battle counts.'

Gawain grunted in assent. Arthur knew that he needed to be taken down a peg, and fast, and he hoped that the gemstone system that he had devised with Sir Andrew would serve in this capacity. There was no way that such an individual would last as commander long. 'Now,' he continued. Commanders, starting with Percival, will pick their preferred recruits, until you have eight men per platoon. Once we reach the end of the line, Gawain will choose twice in a row, and the pick order will reverse.'

'General,' asked Percival, 'with respect, there are not enough recruits to make up a full eight men per platoon. My platoon, under the current system, will end up with seven men'. 

'In war, forces are seldom equal, Commander. For now, as you are clearly the most experienced military man, I have chosen to handicap your platoon. Should this prove to be too much of a detriment to Eagle Platoon's performance, I will rethink matters. Now, begin! Your platoon insignia will be provided by the castle's seamstress once you have chosen your members.'

With that, the newly promoted commanders chose their team members one by one. Percival chose Roland first, a tall man with dark hair and skin and a dangerous look in his bright blue eyes. Kay picked Bors, son of Sir Bors of the Round Table and widely considered to be an excellent fighter. Eventually, it got to the last man standing, and only Thomas remained. He ended up with Robin and Hawk Platoon, and already he looked slightly awkward and out of place.

'Men! You will be assigned barracks in the West Wing of Camelot Castle, with commanders each having their own private quarters and offices. By tomorrow morning's training session, I expect commanders to have chosen their seconds and thirds, and allocated gems to their platoons. Now, go to the seamstress and pick up your livery. You will learn to wear these with pride, for the names of Eagle, Hawk, Raptor and Griffin will become famous throughout the land. Dismissed!'

With that, the men left with their platoons to receive their insignia - all but one. Thomas, the final man picked, and the man from Camelot Town who had been so vocal earlier on. 'General?' he said, 'May I ask a question?'

'Of course, Thomas,' replied Arthur. He could already see where this was going.

'Of the recruits who spoke up in the session, three of the four of them were picked as commanders. The fourth was me. Not only was I not picked as a commander, but I was picked last of all out of the recruits when it came to the draft. I'm intelligent enough to understand that you weren't picking the commanders at random, despite what the other men might think. Why was I overlooked?'

'Why do you think you were overlooked, Thomas? I'll admit it was a conscious decision on my part.'

'Speaking frankly, sir,' Thomas said, with a hint of venom, 'I would assume it's a sort of bigotry based on my birth. Although you talk a good talk with regard to bloodlines not mattering on the battlefield, it's pretty clear that you only pay lip service to that ideal. After all, thirty of the thirty one recruits are members of some noble house or another! It may be the case that anyone can become a Knight of the Round Table in theory, but in practice? It's a stitch up between you and your noble friends. How can anyone ever advance if they aren't even allowed a chance in the first place?'

'But you do have a chance,' said Arthur, with a hint of mirth. 'The gemstones system ought to work in favour of the intelligent and resourceful. Yes, bigotry did play a part in my overlooking you as commander. But not in the way that you think. Do you really think the men, nobles all, would accept a peasant as their commander, without first having seen that peasant prove himself? I have to respect that a certain amount of bigotry exists and work around it. The world is not fair, and no amount of social engineering would give everyone exactly equal opportunities. It is a fact of life that someone of your birth will have to work ten times as hard as anyone else to achieve recognition. But, I am sure that you can do it, if you have the ability. Now, go. If you want to cultivate status and respect with your platoon mates, missing the opening mess isn't the best way to start.'

'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,' said Thomas, who then left to join the rest of his platoon. 

Arthur sighed. He didn't think that Thomas agreed with him, at least not completely, but it was the best he could do for now. This had been a point of disagreement with Sir Andrew. Originally Arthur had wanted to recruit based purely on merit, birthright be damned, but Sir Andrew, ever the pragmatist, had pointed out that fictions shared by enough of the population quickly became a sort of common knowledge, that had to be treated as if they were fact. In this case, elevating those of noble birth was the done thing, even if there was no reason whatsoever to do it, and the kingdom had to change little by little if it were to change at all. _When I am King,_ thought Arthur, _things will be different._


	4. Chapter 4

Morgana was in a state of utter panic. She was certain now, beyond all reasonable doubt. She could no longer deny it, despite her best judgement. She was a sorcerer, and her adoptive father was going to kill her when he found out. Literally.

The dreams had been getting worse for months. At first, she dismissed them as simple fantasies, based on her father's outlandish stories of the old war. But, as the dreams got more intense, she realised that she could control her actions within them. Without realising what she was doing, she trained her abilities subconsciously, until, one day, when awake, she noticed a spark of lightning jump from her hand. She thought it was a freak accident at first, until a few weeks later, she noticed that her comb was levitating in front of her face. When it fell from the air onto her dresser, she told herself that it must have been a stray pixie or relict goblin. But, when she dreamt herself levitating much larger objects that night, it clicked into place. The next morning, she woke up floating six inches in the air above her mattress, and it became impossible to deny.

As a child, Morgana used to dream of her mother, Gwyneth. A lady of the neighbouring kingdom of Cymru, Gwyneth had been killed in the last round of wars between Albion and Cymru, and Morgana had been taken as a hostage by the tyrant Uther. Though at first she despised him, he treated her well, considering her status as a noble hostage, and eventually, when Cymru fell to the barbarians, had her declared his legal ward. She had grown to respect Uther's strength, and, if she didn't love him as a father, she certainly appreciated the protection that his position as king provided. At least until now, she thought. Now I know I am a sorcerer, Uther's Iron Law is more likely than not going to be my death. 

It had been many years since she had thought of her mother, but Morgana found herself wishing for Gwyneth's gentle embrace more than ever. Instead, she was interrupted by a loud knock on her door. 'Ma'am?' came a voice from outside her chambers. 'I've brought you your breakfast. May I come in?' 

'Come in, Gwen. Please, stay a moment - there's something I'd like to discuss with you.'

Morgana never knew her maid-servant's real name. She was originally from a far away land over the ocean, where huge beasts the size of ten horses allegedly roamed wild, where they were preyed on by giant cats as large as the largest bears. At a very young age, she was captured by Moorish pirates, and sold at the Tintaglian slave markets. Although slavery was illegal in Camelot, it still happened in the surrounding kingdoms. The young Morgana, seeing a girl her own age who was clearly suffering, took pity on her, and, after pestering the king incessantly for hours, he finally relented and purchased her freedom. Morgana, in a rare display of sentimentality, tried to name her after her mother Gwyneth, but, as she couldn't pronounce the name properly, she became Gwen. They were firm friends throughout their childhood, despite their difference in stations, and, although Gwen was notionally Morgana's maid, she became her closest confidant as the two became young women. 

Gwen was strikingly beautiful, with dark skin, dark eyes, and curly black hair, utterly unlike anyone else in the kingdom of Camelot. Many of the men in the castle were clearly besotted by her easy charm and style, including, much to Morgana's chagrin, her adoptive brother Arthur. Morgana, by contrast, was awkward around people, and despite her obvious beauty, found that men reacted coldly to her. For the most part, she didn't much care for them either - perhaps it was the immature bravado, the fact that they only seemed interested in drinking, fighting, and courting. As Gwen placed the breakfast tray on the counter top, Morgana noticed her full figure in her fitted robes, and felt a twinge of envy.

'Nothing for you this morning, Gwen?', asked Morgana. 

'Not today, Gana', Gwen replied. Gana was what Gwen had nicknamed Morgana when they were both children, and in private, where royal protocol did not have to be followed so strictly, she was happy to be reminded of their years of friendship'. 'I'm on a diet! I'm reaching marriageable age - I don't want to die a spinster!' 

'Gwen, you're 24! And judging by how the men of the castle look at you, I'm sure that won't be a problem!' Morgana ate a couple of spoons of her porridge before continuing: 'How are things with Bors?'

'Bors is just fine, thank you, but he and I are just friends. He's just joined Arthur's new platoons - I hear they are training them hard.'

'I'm not surprised. Father was furious when the last squadron of newbies disappeared, and the great and noble Arthur seems to feel that it is his personal responsibility to be as obsequious as possible when it comes to God-Emperor Uther.'

'I'm sure Prince Arthur means well,' replied Gwen. Gwen had always had a soft spot for her older brother - even as children when they would play together, she would always excuse his reckless heroics that got them all into trouble. 'Besides, I hear he has invented a totally new system of squadron management. It's quite interesting, really, you should ask him about it!' 

'As you are well aware, I have absolutely no interest in men marching about the training yards measuring the length of their swords. It's so very tiresome.'

'But, you know,' Gwen said hesitantly, 'some might say that we have to be vigilant against the dark forces of sorcery and magic. According to the king, sorcerers would destroy the keep given half a chance, and then the last bastion of civilisation would fall. During the last war… Gana? What's wrong?'

A single tear flowed down Morgana's face. Then, it flowed beyond her face, levitating through the air and glistening in the morning sunlight that shone through the window, before landing on Gwen's outstretched palm. 'Oh Gwen,' wept Morgana, 'please, not you too. I thought I could tell you, at the very least. I didn't just want to make small talk this morning. I've realised that…'

'That what?' interrupted Gwen, clearly fearing the worst.

'That I'm a sorcerer, Gwen!' snapped Morgana. 'I don't know why, I don't know how, but I can no longer deny what my dreams tell me!' As Morgana's emotions flared, objects around the room began levitating at random, surrounding her like a shield of angry hornets, ready to sting anyone who got too close. 'And I cannot believe how selfish I have been. I applauded at the witch-burnings, at the hangings. I even accepted the familial purges as a necessary evil. But sorcerers are people, Gwen, just like you and me. In fact, exactly like me. How must their deaths have affected their friends, their communities? I remember when we lost old Sir Chade how the ripples of grief emanated throughout the keep. Whenever we kill a sorcerer, we are causing that same hurt, and we are killing them for what? For being born the way they are! It's barbaric! We call the northerners barbarians, but what does that make us?' 

Morgana sat down on her bed angrily, putting her head in her hands, and the objects that had been floating around her fell to the floor with a mighty crash. Gwen sat down next to her and tentatively put her arm around her. 'Gana?' she said, 'Gana, it's OK. Don't worry. I'll keep your secret, we don't need to tell anyone. You're going to be safe. I'll clean up this mess for you and we can destroy the evidence. No one will find out!' 

'Gwen', sniffed Morgana, 'you just don't get it. I'm not upset that I'm a sorcerer. I'm still me, I don't feel like a different person, and I'm still loyal to Camelot. I'm upset that I'm a horrible person. I didn't notice that sorcerers were also human until I realised that I was one myself. What does that make me?'

'Human, Gana,' replied Gwen, soothingly. Most people just don't care. It's not that they don't want to care, it is that they just don't have the capacity to care. How many people die every day in Cymru and Caledonia? The people there are barely civilised, they have no farms and no flocks, and thousands must starve to death each year. And yet in supposedly enlightened Camelot, not only do we not help them with our surplus, we declare war on them for their scant resources! This is despite the fact that, if any individual citizen of Camelot saw a Caledonian or Cymraesh child out in the cold, they would almost certainly take them in. Our species just doesn't care about the outgroup. Look at my own life story if you don't think that this is true.'

'Gwen', Morgana sniffed, 'it's not exactly consoling to learn that I am indeed a horrible person, but no more so than everyone else!' 

Gwen grinned, offering Morgana a flash of the dimples she'd heard the knights raising their glasses to on more than one occasion. 'I guess you're right', she laughed. 'But whatever you are, Gana, it doesn't matter to me. Sorcerer, Cymraesh, whatever, you have always been my best friend and I will support you.'

Morgana nodded gratefully and took the other girl's hand. 

'Should I tell my father?'

Gwen bit her lip. 

'That's a tricky one. Uther isn't the most reasonable man, and that's putting it mildly. I doubt he would react well to the news that his own ward is that which he hates the most. I would tread carefully, Gana. Maybe you've realised that sorcerers aren't your outgroup, but for most of the citizens of Camelot, this simply won't have occurred to them. Even if they can be persuaded not to be openly hostile eventually, slow and steady wins the race. It's like the story of the tortoise and the goblin.'

Morgana sighed. 'I feel so powerless. It is amazing - despite being able to do more than I ever could before, I suddenly feel like I have no options whatsoever.' 

'You might talk with Arthur. He is a good man. I know the two of you don't exactly get on, but…'

'No.' said Morgana, biting back a snarl of irritation. 'Absolutely not. When it comes down to it, Arthur is his father's son. He might come across as noble and valiant, but believe me. I know that the velvet glove contains an iron fist.'

'Well, don't rule it out,' said Gwen. 'You will have to trust someone, and soon. You clearly don't have full control over your powers - I doubt you meant to out yourself to me in such a dramatic fashion, and if someone less sympathetic were to see you, word could get back to the king very quickly. If you like, I can put some feelers out in the castle town, to see if I can find any others who might have gone through what you are experiencing. You could meet up, share your thoughts. It could be a safe place to experiment with your abilities and learn to control them.'

'Gwen, you know how dangerous that could be for you? If the Knights of the Round Table catch you…' 

'I'll just make sure they won't! Look, there's no way the king's favourite ward is getting out of the castle to make this kind of enquiry. I have my ways of being a little more inconspicuous.'

'Gwen, you have never been inconspicuous in your life. You walk into a room and every head can't help but turn to admire you. But I appreciate the gesture - and you're probably right, there are places you can go that I never could.' 

'Good, I'm glad we're agreed. Now, for the time being, I will tell the castle staff that you are ill, and that they are under no circumstances to enter your chambers, until you are feeling better. That should give me the time to do what I have to do.' 

'Gwen, thank you so much,' said Morgana, with a sigh of relief. 'You're a true friend. I would never ask you to take such an enormous risk.' 

'What would you do without me?' Gwen replied, with a smile. 'Now, it seems like I have a lot of work to do. Remember, you're ill, ma'am, so try and stay out of trouble!' 

'Yes ma'am!' replied Morgana.


	5. Chapter 5

Almost a week had passed since Merlin's encounter with the dragon Kilgharrah, and he had thought of little else since. He went through the motions in his classes with Gaius, for the first time ever bored with what the old man was trying to teach him. For the first few nights, he returned to the caverns under the castle, but Kilgharrah was nowhere to be found, although he could see the end of the huge chain that kept the dragon prisoner. He tried calling out Kilgharrah's name, but he never received a response. He concluded from this that either the network of caves was so vast and the dragon so far away that he could not hear him, or the dragon could hear him perfectly well but was choosing to ignore him. After the third trip to the caverns, he decided that he would wait for Kilgharrah to summon him again: after establishing that the dragon didn't seem willing or able to come to him for whatever reason, he chose to use his free time more productively.

Every evening thereafter, he went to the castle library in an effort to learn as much as he possibly could about dragons from the books and journals therein. What he found was a morass of confusing and contradictory information. Some treated dragons as mythological creatures, descended from sea serpents. Their body shapes were inconsistent between various descriptions, sometimes being elongated like a serpent, other times being short and squat with wings that seemed entirely too small to carry them. Four legged dragons were as common as two legged ones; most had wings, but not all, though even those without wings were said to be able to fly. At least one description claimed that the common sea serpent was the dragon's larval stage, and that they passed on their memories from generation to generation - Merlin found this notion extremely unlikely, but didn't want to rule anything out a priori, as up until a few days he would have scoffed at the existence of a six limbed vertebrate. What the books did agree on was that they were highly intelligent but arrogant creatures that tended to treat humans with contempt. He found no information about their eating or breeding habits, though he noted that many descriptions claimed that they loved gold and other precious metals. He filed this information away for later, writing in his journal that he ought to ferret away some gold the next time he was in the alchemy lab, just in case he could somehow bribe Kilgharrah with it.

After the third late night in the library, Merlin arrived at Gaius' morning' natural science class with bleary eyes. He had already decided that it was best that he didn't mention his encounter with Kilgharrah to his tutor, if for no other reason than to avoid an unscheduled safety lecture from the old man. But, as Gaius droned on about the carnivorous plants of the Eastern marshes, Merlin felt his eyelids droop. 

'Another late night in the library, Merlin?' said Gaius, with a wry smile. 

'Sorry, Gaius. Afraid so. I've been doing some research for a personal project,' replied Merlin, stifling a yawn.

'It wouldn't have anything to do with dragons, would it?', asked Gaius knowingly. 

'Erm… I… How did you guess?' replied Merlin. He hoped that Gaius didn't know more than he was letting on. 

'Friar Louie and I are good friends. As you've been absent from your chambers for a few nights, I decided to find out where you were. It wasn't much of a stretch to guess that you might have been in the library - you practically lived in there for a month when I first told you about Sir Darwin. You came to me afterwards with a suggestion for a whole new filing system for the books to make things easier for your research - I had to stop you from physically assaulting the librarian when he informed you that he couldn't change the system!'

_Of course,_ seethed Merlin. _That gangly ginger-haired runt. So much for librarian/borrower confidentiality!_ Silently, he noted to himself to borrow a wider range of books next time he was researching something he wanted to keep secret, so as not to make himself so easy to track.

'I'm trying to find out about folklore. Why so many people believe in dragons, despite the fact that they seem deeply implausible. I'm hoping to discover what makes people believe irrational things, so I can better convince them of the truth', said Merlin, hoping that his traditionally unconvincing acting would see him through this encounter. 

'And I suppose this sudden interest in folklore surrounding dragons has nothing to do with your trips down to the caverns for the last few nights?' said Gaius, his intense stare betraying his otherwise calm tone.

Merlin sat bolt upright in his chair. 'What do you know about the caverns?' he asked. It wasn't really a question - the old man's line of enquiry proved that he had a pretty good idea what was going on.

Gaius sighed. 'Merlin, what I'm about to say must never leave this room. I do not say it lightly, as if Uther found out that I spoke of the caverns to anyone else he would have my tongue out, and likely remove your head for good measure. You know I love you as if you were my own son, even though you're impossible sometimes - and I am loathe to put your life at risk by my words. But it seems like you have somehow chanced upon something extremely dangerous, and I feel I can't stand by and watch without at least attempting to intervene. Kilgharrah is not to be trusted. You may think King Uther's methods harsh - you wouldn't be the only one - but if you had been around during the last sorcerer war you would realise why he feels like he must act in the way that he does. I can only hope that you take me at my word - and I beg you, please do not visit the caverns again! Nothing good can come of it.'

_So, he knows of Kilgharrah,_ thought Merlin. _What other secrets has the old man been keeping from me?!_ Merlin loved Gaius dearly, and trusted him not to lie, so long as he didn't consider the truth to be an immediate threat to anyone's life. If he did, all bets were off. 'Gaius, I'm sorry. I should have never kept any of what happened a secret. I was simply excited - Kilgharrah offered to teach me about the science behind sorcery. He's the only person who has ever spoken of sorcery as if it were something other than some sort of supernatural magic. I know it isn't safe to use my powers openly, but I can't stand not knowing anything about them. You have to understand that!'

Gaius stared into the distance, as if deep in thought. 'Perhaps I have been too cautious', he said, his hand resting on his chin. 'In my attempts to keep you safe, I may have driven you to into the arms - err, into the wings - of one of the most dangerous and evil creatures I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. I see now that your thirst for knowledge is too great, and that even if I attempt to stop you from trying to find out about your powers, you'll do everything you can to thwart my efforts.'

Merlin was stunned. 'Gaius,' he croaked, 'are you saying that you will teach me about my powers? About how they work?' 

Gaius laughed. 'No, Merlin, not me! I'll admit, I dabbled in my youth, but I never really had the knack. There is someone, though, who I believe could help you. In Camelot Town. I fear to mention a name, as I think your clumsy research methods might bring the entire Round Table down on them, but I will make personally sure that an introduction is made within the next few days.'

The last comment stung a little, but Merlin knew Gaius was right. He had been so excited about the dragon and what that he might learn from him that he didn't even think about covering his tracks. That was sloppy, and he had no intention of doing it again. 'Gaius, thank you. This means a lot to me. I really do appreciate everything you've done for me, and I promise that I'll be more careful in the future.' 

'Just promise me one thing,' said Gaius, sternly. 'I am not going to ask you not to visit the dragon again; frankly I don't think you could resist the temptation even if I did, and I won't ask you to make a promise that I feel you won't be able to keep. But, please promise me this: do not trust Kilgharrah! He possesses knowledge far beyond anything you might find in the castle library, but his heart is as cold as stone. You could learn much from him, but he will only teach you what is useful to him, what will further his cause, whatever that might be. Trust me when I say this: a world with Kilgharrah in chains and Uther on the throne is a better world than one without the tyrant in which the dragon roams free.'

'I'm not going to free the dragon!' replied Merlin, with a wry smile. 'I'm intelligent enough to know that if a huge fire-breathing reptile is chained in the basement, freeing it is probably not the smartest thing to do, at least not without a very good reason. But I'll keep an open mind as to what he has to say, and I'll try and learn as much as I can. And I promise I won't keep any of it secret from you this time - you deserve to know what I'm doing, and I really do appreciate your advice."

'Thank you, Merlin,' said Gaius. 'You've made an old man very happy. Now, as I don't think you're going to get anything out of my lecture on the feeding habits of carnivorous plants in your current state, run along and head to bed. You really do look like you need it! And, regarding my acquaintance, I will make sure that you are contacted soon. They tend to be fairly cloak and dagger, but I'm sure you'll understand, given the circumstances.'

'Gaius, this means so much to me, thank you.' Merlin strode over to Gaius and gave him an awkward hug. Although he had never been particularly comfortable with physical contact, Gaius was the closest thing to family he had, and he knew that the old man would appreciate it. Gaius chuckled, and asked him again to leave - before he changed his mind.

Merlin left Gaius' laboratory for his chambers with a spring in his step. Although he was exhausted, he was feeling good about his prospects - he'd gone from zero sorcery teachers to two in the space of a week, and he knew that at least one of them would be scientific about it. When he reached the door to his rooms, though, he noticed that a square of paper had been pushed into the crack between the door and the hinges. He palmed it as he entered his rooms, aware that he had just been warned that he might receive cloak and dagger style messages. Once he had shut the doors and the curtains, he lit a candle and unfolded the paper. On it was written a message in a hurried scrawl:

_YOU ARE BEING WATCHED. BE VERY CAREFUL. WHEN YOU HAVE READ THIS MESSAGE, DESTROY IT._

_A Friend._


	6. Chapter 6

'Cloak and dagger indeed!' said Merlin to himself. The old man had always worked fast, and Merlin wasn't surprised that he had been contacted already by Gaius' acquaintance. He wondered idly if he knew them already, or if they were someone new. He always felt a little awkward around new people who weren't used to his idiosyncrasies - they tended to misunderstand him, interpreting his fascination with the minutiae of whatever he was working on at the time as arrogance or superiority. He stepped through the door into his tiny room, and he was pleased to find it exactly as he had left it. Thankfully, it didn't seem that whoever had written the note had been inside. He hated it when people invaded his personal space uninvited. He dutifully screwed up the tiny bit of paper and threw it onto the fire. He didn't see any sense worrying about it further for the time being - Gaius' acquaintance had proven that they could contact him, and he felt that he was already plenty careful enough. After checking the cupboards and shelves for anything out of place one final time, and discovering nothing amiss, he sank down onto his bed and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. 

He was awoken suddenly by a loud knocking. 'Merlin!' came the voice from the corridor. 'I trust you aren't forgetting tonight's feast?'

_ Shit.  _ He hadn't exactly forgotten, but he had hoped that Gaius would have excused him from the festivities on account of the fact that he tended to embarrass himself at fancy dinners. No such luck. 'Sorry, Gaius,' groaned Merlin, 'I slept for much longer than I expected! What time is it?' 

'It's quarter to six. The feast begins in just under an hour. Get ready, and I'll see you in the Great Hall in fifteen minutes.'

'Okay, sure…' Merlin replied groggily. He knew Gaius wouldn't take no for an answer, so he didn't bother arguing with the old man. He dragged himself out of bed, pulled on the first outfit he saw on the floor, and made his way down to the Great Hall. 

The grandest room in Camelot Keep, the Great Hall was heavily decorated, the Pendragon banner hanging from every available surface. At its head was the Round Table, a huge wooden table of oak and mahogany, covered in intricate carvings of knights, dragons, and princesses. Its unusual circular shape had originally been intended to mark all those who sat around it as equals - but Uther's ostentatious throne, raised higher than all the other chairs, showed this for the lie that it was. Only the most important and influential people in the kingdom were granted a seat alongside the king: Prince Arthur, the king's ward Morgana, and the dozen Knights of the Round Table, the fearsome protectors of the realm who had distinguished themselves in battle and were given as a reward non-hereditary land grants and certain arcane voting rights. Merlin thought the system was an excellent way to ensure loyalty: by tying military might to political power, and ensuring that it could not pass from father to son without the sons also proving themselves in battle, those elevated to the ranks of the Knights were more likely to be fanatically devoted to the tyrant king's every whim.

The table Merlin and Gaius sat on was further down the hall. They were joined by a few minor lords and ladies, petty gossips who Merlin found tedious. He found it very hard to care whether or not Lady Spencer was having an affair with Lord Hewitt or not - such matters seemed trivial to him. Though he knew that position in society was important, and taking advantage of the court gossip was one way of improving his, he couldn't help but glaze over when people started talking about the illicit relationships of their peers. Despite his irritation, though, he was grateful - he couldn't help but think that, had Gaius not taken him under his wing as a precocious but irritating child, he could have easily ended up as a servant in the castle rather than being served by them. And if that were the case, the odd boring dinner would be the least of his worries.

After the starter of smoked lamprey pie had been cleared away, the prince stood up to make his customary speech. Merlin had never liked him much - he seemed like the sort of man who was more concerned with cultivating a good public image than actually doing good. A typical spoilt prince, the sort of man who would arrogantly assume his superiority over the mere mortals in his presence by virtue of his birth alone. A heroic buffoon who bought into his father's propaganda concerning sorcery hook, line, and sinker. As Arthur approached the speaker's podium, a silence descended over the hall.

'Lords and Ladies of Albion!' spoke the prince, his diction and delivery perfectly schooled for maximum impact on the crowd, 'I stand before you today not just as your Prince, but as the military commander of our newest squadron of trainee Kingsguard. Our great kingdom has been under sustained attack, from both the barbarians of Caledonia and Cymru and the evils of those who would practice sorcery against the natural order of things. Through my father's wise leadership, we have prevailed over every threat that has attempted to defeat us!'

Arthur paused there as the hall applauded vigorously, as they tended to whenever Uther was mentioned. Merlin joined in, aware that he did not want to be the only one to seem disloyal by not clapping Uther's questionable achievements. The applause showed no signs of stopping until Arthur raised his hand as if to continue. 

'A few days ago, I personally took command of the training of the latest batch of recruits to the Kingsguard. Like all Kingsguard members, these most noble men have sworn to give their lives to protect Camelot. I am proud to call each and every one of them my comrade in arms, and I hope one day to lead them in battle against the forces of darkness. In order to better facilitate their training, I have formed four squadrons from the recruits. Each squadron has its own commander, and I wish to present these four men to you now. Come forward, Percival of Eagle Squadron! Robin, of Hawk Squadron! Kay, of Raptor Squadron! Gawain, of Griffin Squadron!'

This was the first Merlin had heard of the four squadrons of soldiers, although it had clearly been the talk of the town for days judging by the lack of surprise from the lords and ladies at his table. Something about what Arthur had said piqued his interest, and he considered that he might need to revise his opinion of the young prince. Changing the Kingsguard training process that had existed since time immemorial was a bold move, and from what Arthur had said, he was changing it rather a lot.

The four men assembled before the speaker's podium, and knelt before the prince. Merlin noticed that three of them had a number of rough cut gemstones inlaid in a golden sigil on their breastplates. The sigils were in the shape of the various birds that adorned their uniforms. He counted thirteen gemstones on each sigil. The fourth man, though, wore an immense gold chain around his neck, decorated with a full twenty four gemstones, all of which sparkled in the candlelight of the hall as if they had been honed by the finest jeweller in the land. His sigil, the griffin, was empty of gemstones, but it was clear that the chain was supposed to compensate.

Arthur continued: 'The men you see before me are the commanders of their respective squadrons. As my father King Uther has suggested, I have decided to grant these men the provisional rank of lieutenant. They will receive quarters in the castle, and should be treated with the respect that you would grant any other Kingsguard lieutenant. In time, I am sure the names of Eagle, Hawk, Raptor, and Griffin will be as famous as the Round Table itself!'

At that, the hall erupted with whoops, cheers, stamping of feet, and thunderous applause. It was a big deal for the Kingsguard to receive four new lieutenants in one day, albeit provisional ones, and even Merlin felt a little excited at the prospect. Arthur raised his hand once again, and the hall was silenced. 

'Lords and ladies, over the next few weeks, the squadrons' training will be intense, and I ask for your support and cooperation. I hope to encourage healthy competition between the squadrons, and I would encourage you to support your favourite team by displaying their sigil alongside your own on your carriages, and by flying their flag at your homes. Now, enjoy the feast, and be merry! Long live the King!'

The crowd roared with applause, only subsiding when the main course was brought out. An immense boar, cooked whole, surrounded by various stuffed game birds, came first. It was followed by huge plates of root vegetables, gourds, and greens. A loaf of freshly baked bread was brought to each person, and the wine and ale flowed freely. After the main course was finished, a dessert of blackberry tart and shortbread was served. It was only after the final plate had been cleared away that King Uther stood, and made his way to the speaker's podium. 

The King was a tall man, greying, with short cropped hair and a penetrating stare. Despite his age, he still cut a trim figure, wearing a regal red cape over his chain mail, and Merlin could understand how the man had held onto power for so long despite his tendency towards autocracy. His presence was so dominating, so commanding, that Merlin couldn't help but watch, rapt, even as he considered that the king wouldn't think twice before executing him and his whole family for who he was. As Uther ascended the podium, an expectant hush fell over the hall.

'My loyal subjects, lords and ladies of Albion!' declaimed the king from his podium. 'On this day, the festival of the Autumn equinox, we gather here together and enjoy food and wine as safe, free citizens of the last civilised kingdom in the world. This year's harvest has been bounteous, thanks to your wise stewardship of your holdings. And thanks to God's infinite love, which protects this kingdom from harm and blesses its people. I ask you to join with me in a toast: to Albion, God's chosen kingdom!'

'And to the King, God's chosen on this earth!' came the response from the hall. Merlin noticed Gaius looking at him sternly from across the table.  _ Don't do anything stupid _ , the look said. Not much chance of that - Merlin knew better than to dice with death for no good reason. Even though he scoffed at the idea of a god, or indeed gods, having any influence or control over his life, he wouldn't show this in front of the overly pious Uther. Men had been burned as witches for less.

'I would also like to congratulate my son, Arthur, on the launch of his new training scheme, and I wish him the best of luck in his endeavours. His is certainly a novel approach, but he has persuaded me that it will be successful in shaping the next generation of Knights of the Round Table. And I would like to announce a little bonus of my own. As I understand it, Arthur's system allows any of the men to advance through the ranks and demonstrate their prowess - I hope what I am about to say encourages them to compete to the utmost of their ability. At the end of the year's training, the platoon commander who seems to me the most distinguished in valour, in virtue, and in skill will be offered the hand of my ward Morgana in marriage!'

The hall was stunned into total silence. Merlin could see from their faces that neither Arthur nor Morgana had been informed of this. Arthur could barely conceal his rage, though Merlin thought that this was more likely the result of his father upstaging him than for any concern for Morgana's wellbeing. Morgana, on the other hand, was the picture of calm stoicism, her face betraying no emotion whatsoever, though Merlin couldn't begin to imagine what she might actually be feeling. This was exactly the sort of thing he had come to expect of the tyrant. Uther typically showed little concern for the feelings of his subjects: why should his children be any different? This announcement of his made sure that he stayed at the centre of the public's attention for the duration of Arthur's contest. Perhaps a shrewd move, politically, but an incredibly thoughtless one that could cause a rift between his two children.  _ Actually _ , thought Merlin,  _ the two of them not getting on is no bad thing for Uther's personal power _ . He had to remember not to underestimate the intelligence of people whose priors he disagreed with.

A sudden chill swept over the room, and Merlin noticed Morgana's maidservant immediately rush over to her and escort her out of the hall. Merlin overheard her exchanging stern words with Prince Arthur: 'The lady Morgana is ill, and she should have never been coerced into attending this feast in the first place!'. After Morgana had left the hall, the temperature seemed to return to normal, and the king continued his speech as if nothing had happened.

'At this point in the proceedings, it is my pleasure to show you the latest results of my Kingsguard's vigilance in their constant fight against the forces of darkness. Guards! Open the doors, and bring in the prisoner!' 

The doors of the hall were flung open, and a naked, emaciated wretch was dragged in, flanked by six armed guards, with hands and feet shackled together. Merlin couldn't tell by looking whether the poor creature was a man or a woman - or even a child. Their skeletal frame could barely support its own weight. 

'Behold, lords and ladies, and bear witness!' cried the king. 'A vile sorcerer walked free among you, until through the valour and strength of our Kingsguard, he was captured. His foul taint will not infect our beautiful land for much longer. This man has been accused and found guilty of being a sorcerer, and the Iron Law demands his life.'

At Uther's revelation that the unnamed man was a sorcerer, the crowd booed and hissed with an almost religious fury. They flung uneaten food at the poor man, a punishment made all the crueler by the fact that he obviously hadn't eaten for days. One woman cursed him loudly in language more befitting a mercenary sailor than a lady of the court. Merlin felt sick. He knew what was coming next.

'It is the tradition of this Round Table that each Knight has a voice. The table has declared this man to be guilty of the most heinous of crimes. By tradition, the Knights take it in turns to dispense the Iron Law's justice. Today, it is Sir Ector's turn to wield the sword.'

Merlin couldn't believe it. Of course, the executions of sorcerers happened often enough, but rarely in so public a forum, and never before at a feast day ceremony. He wondered what the man could have done that was so heinous as to merit such a deliberately ostentatious punishment.

'This man has knowingly and wilfully consorted with the Devil to bring death and devastation down upon the first and second squadrons of Kingsguard recruits this year. His foul sorcery is clear for all to see. Look how he stands here, disgusting, in defiance of the natural order of things! I can tolerate it no longer. Sir Ector, it is time. Do what must be done, as your king commands you!'

The crowd was reaching a fever pitch. Even Gaius had started to shout and curse, though Merlin knew that this was merely self preservation. Sir Ector got up from the Round Table and approached the chained sorcerer. The contrast in size and strength between the fully armoured Knight and his soon-to-be-victim was almost too much for Merlin to bear. The Knight grunted a cursory 'as you command, your majesty' to the king, and unsheathed his sword from the scabbard at his belt. The guards placed the sorcerer's head on a hastily assembled execution block, and moved swiftly out of the way.

Just as Sir Ector was preparing to swing his sword, Merlin heard a voice, crystal clear in his head, as if he had been contacted by a faerie.  _ Please! Many of you here must be able to hear me! If you can, don't let this happen! Do something!  _ It was all he could do not to cry out in surprise, but he could see Gaius across the table giving him the look again.  _ Interesting, _ he thought. Gaius could hear the voice too. But that would mean… 

His train of thought was interrupted by an almighty crash as Sir Ector's steel sliced the sorcerer's head clean off. All at once, the voice in Merlin's mind was silenced. Sir Ektor bent down to pick up the severed head and display it to the room.

'Behold!' shouted Uther. 'The Iron Law's justice is done, and the kingdom is safer. We can sleep easier in our beds tonight, knowing that there is one less sorcerer in our land. To Albion, God's chosen kingdom!'

'And to the King, God's chosen on this earth!' roared the crowd in response. The applause that followed was deafening, and lasted long after the king had returned to his seat. Even Merlin joined in, clapping as loudly and as enthusiastically as possible. For nobody wanted to be the first to stop clapping.


	7. Chapter 7

A few days after the feast, the platoons assembled in a large field about half a mile outside of Camelot Town. It was a bright, sunny day, and today Arthur shared the nervous excitement of his platoons. For today was the day of the first of his planned training exercises, and nothing quite like this had been attempted before. Exactly what was to come was a closely guarded secret - and through a small miracle he had managed to keep it from the men. It would certainly be a spectacle. He hoped it would also be effective.

A small viewing platform had been set up at a safe distance from the field, where many of Camelot's lords and ladies were gathered to watch what was to come. Although Arthur spotted many familiar faces, including Sir Bedevere, the weapons coach and Gaius, the court physician, the king was conspicuously absent, which filled Arthur with a still unfamiliar sense of relief. He had grown up idolising his father, and after his mother had been murdered in cold blood by a sorcerer, the two became inseparable for a time. For years, Uther had been unable to let him out of his sight, perhaps out of fear that Arthur too would be taken away from him. The young prince learned to imitate his father's expressions and habits, and for a while seemed to be Uther's perfect miniature. But, in recent years, the pair had grown distant, as the young man began to see the flaws in his father's character. Although he accepted that Uther was a ruthlessly effective ruler, he felt that he relied more on fear than loyalty to motivate his subjects to action.

His anger over Uther's interference in his training programme had subsided somewhat from the white hot rage that he had felt immediately after the king's announcement. He was still annoyed, though - by explicitly pitting all the men against one another in a zero sum contest, Uther had created a very different dynamic to the atmosphere of cooperative competition that Arthur had hoped for. Fortunately, most of the men didn't seem to take the king's offer seriously, and stayed doggedly loyal to their squadrons. Arthur thought it likely that they had grown attached to their arbitrarily assigned platoons, and that tribal loyalties could stand strong on a very flimsy footing, though he conceded that it was possible that they just couldn't believe that Morgana would consent to a marriage against her will, royal decree or not. Whatever the reason, Uther's attempt at changing the game didn't seem to result in much changing of the attitude of the men, and Arthur was grateful for this.

'Platoons, attention!' shouted Arthur, in his best stage voice, mindful of the fact that he was putting on a performance for the audience. 'Today is the day you will face your first true challenge of your training. Excel, and you will be the talk of the town for weeks! Now, platoon commanders, step forward! Before we begin, I must address you all personally.' 

The four commanders stepped forward, each adorned with the gemstones that signified their rank. Kay, Percival, and Robin had thirteen gemstones attached to their sigils; Gawain alone wore a blank sigil and a heavy chain of twenty four gemstones, glistening brightly in the morning sun.

Arthur turned to the first of the commanders and spoke:

'Lieutenant Percival, please introduce your second and third to the lords and ladies of the court.'

The Lieutenant turned to his squadron and proudly announced 'Lords and Ladies, please allow me to introduce Eagle Squadron's second in command, Roland, son of Steven.' As the crowd applauded politely, Arthur noted that Roland wore seven gemstones on his eagle sigil. 'And our third in command, Priam, son of Ektor'. The son of the feared Knight of the Round Table wore five gemstones. It was a canny move for Percival to pick Ektor's son as his third: although he was obviously a worse fighter than some of the other men in the squadron, as the son of a powerful man, his opinion carried a lot of weight with the other recruits, and Pervical was wise to respect that. The rest of Eagle Squadron each wore three gemstones, and seemed happy with the chain of command, at least for the time being.

'Lieutenant,' said Arthur, 'I can't help but noticing that your squadron seems to be short three gemstones. I gave you forty stones at the start - where are the final three?' 

'General, our squadron is short a man compared to the other three,' replied Percival. 'With respect, I decided to keep three gemstones back, assigned to no one, in case another man is recruited. 

'A reasonable choice,' said Arthur. 'And if no one is recruited by the end of your training?' 

'Then whoever the commander is will award them to the man or men who he feels is most deserving,' replied Pervical without skipping a beat. Clearly they had discussed this between them already. 

'Thank you, Lieutenant,' said the prince. 'Now, Lieutenant Robin of Hawk Squadron, introduce your second and third please.'

Robin stepped forward, and introduced his second, a huge man from the North called Simon, and his third. Arthur was happy to see that Robin had picked Thomas Collins as his third in command. He knew that Robin would be fair and reward ability and intelligence - while the man had never been the best of fighters himself, he was a shrewd tactician and could clearly see potential in the younger man. Again, the second had seven stones and the third had five, with the rest of the company receiving three.

'Lieutenant, I notice that your gemstone distribution pattern closely follows Eagle Squadron's', noted the prince with a wry smile. 

'Yes sir! As they say in Camelot Town, if it ain't broke, don't fix it! Percival -  _ Lieutenant  _ Percival - was the first to come up with the system, but as it seemed reasonable, we agreed to adopt it.'

'Very good, Lieutenant,' said Arthur. 'You're quite right - there's no reason to reinvent the wheel.' Percival's system was exactly what he himself had in mind when he allocated forty stones. He was glad that they had come up with it independently, but he supposed that setting thirteen stones as an anchor for the commanders made this more likely than not. 

Next came Lieutenant Kay, who introduced Raptor Squadron's second and third. Kay too had adopted Percival's system of gemstone distribution. Arthur didn't bother asking him the same question as he had Robin, but he did find something to comment on. 

'Lieutenant Kay', said the prince, 'I notice that you are not carrying a sword. Did you forget to bring it?' 

'No, General,' replied Kay calmly. 'Sir Bedevere informed us that we ought to bring our best weapons to today's task, and mine is the bow and arrow. Although I am a capable sword user, my size ensures that I will never be the best with this weapon. I am, however, the finest shot in the platoons, and if I am to be the most effective commander, I ought to play to my strengths, and to the strengths of those around me.' 

Arthur noticed that the rest of Raptor Squadron were similarly diversely armed, with a couple of spears, an axe, and a brutal looking crossbow alongside the expected swords. 'An interesting approach - diversification of lines of attack has advantages and disadvantages, as I'm sure you're aware. I applaud your honesty, and your humility!' 

This provoked a chuckle from the men of the other squadrons, and Arthur hushed them with a wave of his hand. 'And finally, Lieutenant Gawain. I notice you alone have not followed Percival's system. Have you perhaps found a better one? Please present your second and third to the court.'

'Your Highness,' Gawain sneered, 'no one has yet proven themselves worthy of the title of second or third. My men all have two gemstones. Like Percival, I have withheld the final two stones, which I will award to anyone who shows themselves to be competent and capable.'

'And your men are happy with this?' inquired Arthur. 

'My men respect strength, sire.' Arthur let the use of his royal honorific slide - for the time being. He hoped his father didn't take too much of an interest in Gawain - judging by the young lieutenant's brazen actions, he would either promote him or have him killed.

'And is it a mark of strength that you feel the need to rank yourself twelve times higher than any of the rest of your men? Do you fear them?' 

'On the contrary,' replied Gawain. 'As you said yourself, if the men decide at any point that they wish to depose me, they can do so democratically - not a system I would approve of in a typical military, but it stands nevertheless. Until they do, it is important that they realise that, while I am in command, my orders are worth more than the opinion of the entire rest of the squadron put together. Even if I am wrong, a strong hierarchy is important to make sure the men maintain discipline and can fight as a unit.'

'You answered that well, Lieutenant,' replied Arthur. 'You aren't wrong - hierarchy is also important, and the chain of command is often inflexible for a very good reason. I look forward to meeting your second and third once you have decided who might be worthy.' 

'Now!' shouted Arthur, 'Your first challenge is about to begin! Attention!' 

The men of the four platoons stood bolt upright and saluted the prince. As they did, one of the wagons from the carriage train that had brought the lords and ladies from the castle broke formation, and trundled its way into the centre of the field, pulled by a team of enormous oxen and driven by four burly men who looked decidedly out of place. On the back of the wagon was a huge cube-shaped cage, the size of a small house, covered in a piece of jet black cloth that completely obscured the contents. Once the carriage stopped, Arthur made his way over to the cage. Without saying a word, he unsheathed his sword and sliced through the ropes that were holding the cloth over the cage. There was an almighty shriek as the cloth fell to the ground and the cage's contents were revealed. Sat atop four perches inside the cage were four fully grown adult griffins. 

Arthur could see the shock on the faces of the new recruits. Although they were so rare that many considered them a myth, tales of these vast birds were told all over the world. Four times as large as the largest eagle, their claws were highly prized by the barbarian tribes of Cymru as weapons, and they could tear a man to shreds with their serrated beaks. A single griffin was a serious threat to an entire squadron of trained soldiers. And Arthur intended the platoons to face four of them.


	8. Chapter 8

Almost a week had passed since the debacle at the feast, and Morgana was incredibly bored. Under Gwen's strict orders, she had not left her chambers at all, not even to wash herself - Gwen had brought her everything she needed for days, and had told anyone who would listen that she was deathly ill. She wasn't sure how long her servant and friend could keep up this flimsy pretence, but, for now, she had been left mercifully alone. 

Gwen had told her that the king had posted guards at the entrance to the wing of the keep where her chambers were housed. She wasn't surprised. It wasn't the first time that Uther had threatened to marry her off to some dim-witted imbecile, but he had never before done so in such a public fashion. She doubted that she could persuade him to change his mind this time - the king was utterly intractable once he had made a public commitment. She had thought that she was handling Uther's surprise announcement with equanimity, until she noticed the water freezing over in the pitcher at the centre of the Round Table. It was only then that she realised that she was repressing a rage strong enough to activate her still uncontrollable powers against her will. It was fortunate for her that Gwen noticed immediately that something was wrong, otherwise she could have easily joined the poor man whom Uther had slaughtered for the guests' entertainment. Just before the wretch had been killed, his voice blared in her head like a trumpet herald, even from the other side of the keep. She wondered if anyone in the hall could hear it. Would it be worse if she was the only one who did, or if everyone heard it but no one cared? She wasn't sure, but she knew now that she had to leave as soon as she possibly could. As long as her powers remained a mystery to her, she was no longer safe in Camelot Keep. Thankfully, although she awoke sweating and gasping with dreams of sorcery every night, she had not experienced a relapse since the gory feast. 

_ A relapse _ , she thought. How easy it was to think of her powers as if they were a pathology, to be eradicated like a parasite. She didn't know if she could ever truly unlearn that behaviour, it had become so ingrained in her psyche. Like many of Camelot's children, she had been brought up to despise and fear sorcery, that vile, unnatural power that had murdered Queen Ygraine and left the king a broken man. Nobody knew why the sorcerers had suddenly attacked Camelot unprovoked - there were many theories of course, but none quite had the ring of truth to them. She assumed that there had to be a reason - but so far, it had remained a total mystery.

To occupy her during her supposed convalescence, Morgana had ordered a variety of books on the subject of sorcerers from the castle library, also ordering a book on the legend of Avalon, and a series of bodice-rippers about sexy werewolves, so as to avoid undue suspicion. It never hurt to be too careful. She had enjoyed learning as much as she could about the prevailing attitudes towards sorcerers in Albion. From what she could tell, the prejudice against them wasn't that old, though she doubted she could get any of her tutors to admit it. The oldest books she could find treated sorcerers as more or less mythological creatures and spoke of them in fairly neutral tones alongside dragons, euchdags, and other such fanciful creatures. Around a hundred years ago or so, scholars started referring to sorcerers negatively - citing the lack of care they had for the common folk. But it was actually fairly recently that anti-sorcerer sentiments had spiked - no doubt spurred on by the death of the Queen in the Sorcerer's War - and she could find nothing from the last twenty years that was anything but vitriolic. 

It was while she was reading Geoffrey of Monmouth's very dry book 'The Sorcerer's War: An Analysis' that she discovered the note tucked behind the front flap. Its message simply read  _ 'Saturday. 11am. Help coming.'  _ Morgana didn't recognise the hand, but she assumed that Gwen must have played some part in this. Perhaps her investigations in the castle town into a potential teacher had borne fruit. 

Having burned the note (again, it never hurt to be too careful), she casually asked Gwen one morning as she entered with her breakfast tray if anything important was happening on Saturday.  _ Might as well dig for some information _ . 'Oh yes,' said Gwen, her voice cheerful but with an urgent look in her eyes, 'your brother has something very exciting planned. I don't really know what it is - no one does - but I've heard it's going to be quite a spectacle.' Morgana already thought she was laying it on rather thick, but the girl continued. 'Almost everyone in Camelot Keep will be going to watch - I do hope nothing goes awry while the soldiers are away!' Gwen shook her head again and gave Morgana a desperate look, despite her tone of voice.  _ Don't say anything else in front of the guards,  _ thought Morgana.  _ Only bad things can come of making them suspicious.  _

11am on Saturday came around quickly, and Morgana was reading the end of the surprisingly compelling werewolf books when she heard a loud crash from the corridor outside her chambers. 'I'm so sorry!' came Gwen's voice through the door. Though she was a convincing actress, Morgana knew her well enough to know that something was up. 'Please, let me help you clean that up.' The guard grunted his assent, and there was an agonising pause in which nothing seemed to be happening. 'Just one second, sir. There's just a bit on your chin. Bend down a bit and I'll get it off for you!' A few seconds later, there was another crash, much louder than the first one, and Morgana's curiosity got the better of her. She flung open the door to the corridor, and found Gwen brandishing her breakfast tray over the unconscious body of a huge Kingsguard soldier, accompanied by a slightly older woman whom she did not recognise. 'Not bad, Gwen!' she said wryly. 'A waste of a perfectly good meal, but otherwise not bad at all!' 

'Quickly,' replied Gwen, her face serious. We don't have much time. Morgana, I'd like to introduce you to Mary Collins, a wise woman from the castle town. Mary knows of a place where people with your… condition… can be treated. It is imperative that you come with us - we won't get an opportunity like this again.

'And she can be trusted?' asked Morgana.

As if to answer the question, Mary snapped her fingers, and the breakfast tray flew out of Gwen's hands and smacked the unconscious soldier on the head. Hard. He let out a little groan, then was once again silent.

'Very well. By doing what you have just done, you have put your life in my hands, and I must therefore trust you with mine,' said Morgana resignedly. 'But how do you intend to get me out of the castle? Surely Uther has guards at every exit? And I'm sure they will all recognise me.'

'Sorcerers are infamous masters of disguise, Lady Morgana,' said Mary, speaking with a surprisingly full and rich voice for such a young woman. 'What we can apply to ourselves, we can apply to another, with a little practice.'

'Is that so?' asked Morgana archly. 'And what magic do you intend to work on me to get me past the guards?' 

'Sit, child! I don't have time to explain everything, there will be time aplenty later on once we have got out of here. Come on! Sit! I won't have any arguments!' 

Morgana sat on her lounge chair, and the woman produced from her bag a bewildering array of phials and brushes, and scattered them all over the floor. 'I hope you aren't too vain, child! You might not want to look in the mirror once I'm finished with you - you could break it!' With that, the woman got to work. She was amazingly fast - her hands moving like lightning around her face and neck, using powders and paints from innumerable phials. She handed Morgana a bottle of some foul smelling liquid: 'Drink this,' she ordered. There was no refusing her. Pretty soon afterwards, Morgana was feeling dreadful - every bit as sick as she had been pretending to be for the past two weeks. 'It will make your walk look better - no youth can fake feeling as wretched as an old person without a little help! Now, please let down your hair.' Morgana complied, feeling incredibly woozy, and the old woman roughly took a handful of her hair and chopped it out with her belt knife. 'Not much we can do about the colour, but I can certainly make you look a little more bedraggled,  _ Lady _ .' The way she sneered the final word made Morgana wonder if she had made a huge mistake in trusting this woman, but it was rather too late to be wondering about that. 'One final touch: Gwen, if you wouldn't mind?' 

'Of course, Mary,' replied Gwen, sweetly. 'Gana, dear, if you wouldn't mind removing your dress, I have something you might like to try on.' Gwen walked over to her wardrobe and opened it with a flourish. 'Here's something I had made earlier - I had the foresight to bring it in a few days ago with your sheets while you were reading that awful book about the war.' Hanging in the wardrobe was a standard issue castle servants' uniform. 'I'll help you into it - you'll find that it is rather uncomfortable and not very well made. You'd better get used to it - you might be wearing it for a while.'

Morgana realised at that moment that, for all that she and Gwen were firm friends, they were never truly equals. She had never even considered the comfort of her clothes, they just fit her, and if they didn't, she sent them down to the castle seamstress until they did. She wondered how many other little things in life she'd never had to worry about due to her position, and felt a little stupid. 'Gwen, I'm so sorry,' she sighed.

'For what? Don't be ridiculous. We've got about two hours before Arthur's show with the griffins finishes, now let's get out as fast as we can! Mary will take you where you need to go, and I will be coming with you - once that guard comes to, my position here will be rather compromised…' 

'I wouldn't worry about that, child,' said Mary. 'The guard won't be bothering you again. I've taken care of it.'

Gwen looked shocked as she rushed over to the body of the guard. 'Why… What have you done? He's not breathing… is he dead?! Mary, for God's sake, you didn't have to kill him!' 

'No loose ends!' barked Mary in a commanding tone that invited no argument. 'I might look like a woman in my prime, but I am almost sixty years old, and as a sorcerer that is a small miracle.' Morgana suddenly understood the disconnect between face and voice. 'The only reason I have lasted this long is because I am careful to clean up after myself. Do not make the mistake of having compassion for those who don't deserve it - if that man knew what your mistress or I were, he would never show any for us.'

Morgana felt sick to her stomach. Whether it was the unpleasant potion or the fact that a man had just been killed for her sake, she wasn't sure, but she nevertheless felt that she had to say something. 'Mary. That man was a human being. His life was a precious resource, and that resource has been permanently extinguished. If he was prejudiced against us, it was not his fault - I too held similar prejudices until I realised what I was. I beg you - please do not kill anyone else for my sake. I would rather face the executioner's axe than be responsible for anyone's death.'

'Foolish child!' shouted Mary. 'You make my job far more difficult! As it happens, I don't anticipate any more deaths being necessary. I will try and avoid killing people, but I make no promises - if it is a choice between my life and theirs, I am fully prepared to do so. Now, Gwen! I recommend that you stay in the castle - a friendly voice on the inside will prove invaluable, and it will be far more suspicious if you and Morgana disappear at the same time. Make your way to the prince's little games - Morgana will be safe with me. Now, say your goodbyes and let's get out of here. We don't have long!'

The two young women exchanged a short embrace, and Gwen promised Morgana that she would come and visit her soon. Then, Gwen left her chambers, and she was alone with the old sorcerer. 'Take a look at my handiwork!' the woman cackled. 'Not bad, eh?' 

Morgana bent to peer into the mirror on her bedside cabinet, and she was shocked. She did not recognise herself. Where before had stood a beautiful dark haired young woman, regal and commanding, there was now an old crone, a serving woman on her last legs who probably wouldn't make it through the winter. She let out an involuntary cry before silencing herself. 'Now do you understand?' asked Mary. 'We are going to escape Camelot Keep through the front gate, and the guards will be none the wiser.

  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

'Platoons!' cried Arthur, 'I will now describe to you your challenge.' The prince was keenly aware that each and every one of the spectators and soldiers were hanging on his every word, and he had already resolved to make a show of it. 'These griffins are not the wild beasts about which you may have heard campfire stories. I have purchased them, at considerable expense, from the Tintaglian Air Force, and as such have been trained from birth not to attack humans unless provoked.' 

There came a low murmur from the gathered crowd at this revelation, which Arthur decided to allow for a short while. King Cenred of Tintagel was a notoriously prickly man, and his Air Force of trained griffins was the kingdom's pride and joy. The fact that Arthur had managed to persuade him to part with four of his prized birds was testament to his obvious negotiation skills. After enough time had passed for the crowd to express their amazement, Arthur continued, hushing them with a wave of his hand. 

'Now, it is well known that even trained griffins are intelligent, proud creatures, that will not accept the command of a master who cannot display his dominance. My challenge to you is to do exactly that. As a platoon, you must subdue a griffin, such that it has no choice but to recognise your superior tactics and intellect. You'll have half an hour to discuss tactics together, and then fifteen minutes to gather whatever supplies you require. Anything you could reasonably expect the quartermaster to provide on a hunting trip will be available to you - nets, ropes, traps, that sort of thing. Additionally, Sir Bedevere will be able to provide you with some non-lethal weapons - wooden swords, blunted arrowheads, and so forth - in case things get heated.

Now, some ground rules. Firstly, and most importantly, do not harm the griffins, unless your lives depend on it and you are left with no other choice. They were quite an investment for the kingdom, and if any of them are hurt, you will be on kitchen duty for the rest of your lives to pay your debt.' There was a nervous chuckle at Arthur's quip, none of the men quite knowing whether or not he was joking. 'Secondly, once you have captured your bird, you are not allowed to interfere with the others in any way, either to help them or to hinder them. And thirdly, to make things a bit more interesting, the platoon that finishes last will graciously surrender eight of their rank gemstones, to the platoon that finishes first. Should any platoon fail in their task entirely, the other three platoons will be given a chance to add a second griffin to their ranks. I would imagine that this would leave that platoon at quite a disadvantage given what is to come, so I would recommend that you do not fail. You have until sundown to successfully capture your griffin before this clause comes into play.

I will release the griffins from their cage within the next five minutes. They have been conditioned not to fly further than a mile or so from their trainers, who have kindly made long the trip up from Tintagel with the birds to be with us today, so you shouldn't have to chase them down too far before you engage them. Platoons! Use your ingenuity and your strength, and make Camelot proud! To Albion, God's chosen kingdom!'

The crowd erupted in wild applause, and the men of the platoons huddled together in groups to discuss strategy in the limited time available to them. Arthur resisted the temptation to eavesdrop - he felt that they would need to speak candidly with one another, and the presence of their prince could easily stop them from doing so. Instead, he wandered over to the wagon in the centre of the field that carried the griffins' cage. The wagon drivers, actually the griffins' trainers and members of the feared Tintaglian Air Force, gave the prince a sharp salute. 'No need to salute, gentlemen,' said Arthur humbly. 'It is I who should be saluting you. You have done me a great favour by bringing these magnificent beasts to my father's kingdom, and I am in your debt.'

The men stood down, and Arthur took another look at the griffins. They really were incredible - so much larger than any other bird he had seen. He had heard rumours that wild griffins grew to even more prodigious sizes, but he could barely believe it. He could see a fierce intelligence in the birds' expressions, an almost human stare. He didn't feel nearly as confident as he had made himself out to be: although the Tintaglian trainers had assured him that the birds would never attack a human directly unless ordered to, he was still terrified that one would go rogue and start attacking the platoons. Although he had skilled archers monitoring the field in case of disaster, he couldn't guarantee that nothing would go wrong. But his decision made sense: Albion had been without an air force of any kind since the Sorcerers' War, and it was high time that it was rebuilt. The griffins had not come cheaply - it had cost the unconditional surrender of nearly all the disputed territories along the Tintagel-Albion border - but Uther had reluctantly agreed to this when Arthur pointed out that those territories would be indefensible without an air force in any case should Aethelbert decide to go to war. He hoped that training the griffins alongside the new platoons would create a formidable fighting force, able to defend Camelot against any form of attack. 

One of the Tintaglian men spoke. 'It's time, sire, if you want the griffins to get any sort of head start on your soldiers.' Arthur nodded his assent, and opened the door to the immense iron cage. The Tintaglian soldiers blew their whistles, and the griffins immediately flew off, faster than a flying arrow, into the distance.

An hour passed, and the sun had reached its highest point in the sky. The men had assembled once again around the cage in the centre of the field, and Arthur could see from the equipment that they had requested that each platoon had come up with a very different strategy. He was eager to see which would be the most effective - as he had deliberately avoided the strategy meetings, he was as in the dark as any of the other spectators.

'Platoons!' cried Arthur. 'The griffins have been released, and your challenge has now begun! Good hunting, men!' 

The men saluted, then ran off in various directions, eagerly chasing down their prey. 

Arthur knew that they would have to lure the vast birds out of the sky before subduing them through force somehow. It wasn't an easy task, but the Tintaglian soldiers had assured him that it was manageable given the available resources, and he had no reason to doubt them. He hoped that none of the platoons failed his task - he and his training methods were under almost as much scrutiny as the platoons themselves were. He knew that how they performed today would set the tone for the rest of the season. He prayed they wouldn't disappoint him.


	10. Chapter 10

Thomas Collins had come a long way since his time on the streets in Camelot Town. From his humble beginnings as the only son of the town's often absent wise woman, he had fought his way up through the fickle ranks of court society to become the third in command of Prince Arthur's Hawk Platoon. And he was furious with his commander for making what he considered to be an unacceptably stupid decision.

Lieutenant Robin was not an unkind man, but as the third son of a noble house, he possessed in droves that irritating sense of entitlement and superiority that Tom had come to expect from his upper class platoon-mates. Once the lieutenant had come up with an idea, it was almost impossible to change his mind, no matter how impractical that idea actually was. On one of the few occasions that she had managed to make time for him, Tom had learnt from his mother Mary that it was best to defer any discussion of potential solutions to a problem until after the problem had been discussed in detail: that way, no one became too attached to their first idea before any possible hazards had been considered in full. Robin seemed uninterested in discussing meta-strategy, though, and during their planning meeting, he immediately barged in with the first thing that came to his mind in typically blazé fashion. Somehow, the rest of Hawk Platoon saw no problem with his plan, or at least didn't feel capable of challenging the consensus, and Tom had ended up staking all six of his gemstones against the lieutenant's thirteen in a show of near insubordination that, on reflection, he was a little ashamed of. He was always overly reckless when he thought he was right, and, at least as often as not, he ended up regretting it later.

It became clear during the planning meeting that Robin had noticed the whistles that the Tintaglians used to command the griffins to leave their cages, and he hoped to snatch an easy victory by tapping into the griffins existing training. Hawk Platoon's second, Simon, was an excellent musician, able to imitate almost any sound using his array of pipes and flutes having heard it just once. Robin, reasoning that the command to get the griffins to return would be the reverse of the command to fly away, asked Simon if he could imitate this. Simon claimed that playing the musical phrase in retrograde would be trivial, and Robin's mind was made up. 

Tom didn't know where to begin with this. They had no particular reason to suspect that the same command played backwards would result in the opposite behaviour. They had only heard the whistles from a distance, and despite Simon's assurances to the contrary, they may have misheard them. They didn't even know whether or not the griffins actually responded to the whistles at all, or whether the Tintaglians had just been putting on a good show for the crowd. But his objections were ignored completely by his platoon mates, and, due to an unholy combination of upper class arrogance and misplaced respect, the lieutenant's plan easily gained the support of the rest of Hawk platoon. Of course, Tom knew that he had to follow his orders. But that didn't mean he had to be happy about. He felt a sick feeling of dread when he saw the other platoons armed with nets, bows, traps, and a complete complement of wooden swords and spears. Gawain's platoon were even decked out with the full body shields of the ancient Romani, whose armaments were still somewhat popular in Albion despite their disappearance. And what did Hawk Platoon have to capture their trained but dangerous creature? Simon and his flutes, a single bowman, and a serving of upper class overconfidence. Robin hadn't even deigned it necessary to request any nets or traps.

The challenge field was an area of roughly two square miles, with patches of trees dotted around here and there. There was a marshy area close to where the lords and ladies had set up their camp, not quite wet or deep enough to be called a true lake. The field was flanked by one of the tributaries to the River Thames on one side, and a deep forest on the other three. Hawk and Griffin Platoon had started out together, but Gawain's men had since ventured out well beyond the reach of the challenge field's boundaries into the forest, for reasons that remained a mystery to Tom. Eagle and Raptor Platoons had started off in the opposite direction, and he had long since lost sight of them. He was wondering how they were getting on when he heard the sound of trumpets blaring in the distance. This could only mean that either Kay or Percival had been successful in capturing their mark - and not even an hour had passed.  _ Amazing _ , Thomas thought. Hawk Platoon hadn't even managed to spot their griffin yet - for the other men to have found and captured their bird in such a short space of time was quite a feat.  _ So much for Robin's quick and easy win. _

'Hawks!' shouted the lieutenant, 'I think it might be time for a change of tactic. We need to cover more ground so we have a better chance of finding our little birdy. Simon, you stay here with Thomas, Leon, and Magnus and search the area; I'll take the rest of the platoon towards Raptor and Eagle's areas. Maybe griffins hunt in packs - we could be barking up the wrong tree over here! The first side to spot him, sound your horns, and we can regroup.'

Tom didn't disagree with the lieutenant's strategy, though he thought it unlikely that a large bird of prey would hunt in packs judging by what he knew of the behaviour of the more familiar eagles and osprey. It was a good idea to cover more ground, and he was surprised that no one had suggested this earlier.  _ He might have, had he not been so angry at Robin's hare-brained plan.  _ There was a grunt of acknowledgement from Simon, and the lieutenant ran away, taking half the squadron with him, towards where Percival and Kay had led their men.

Half an hour or so after Robin had left, Tom spotted a flash of movement in the trees along the side of the field. 'On your left!' he shouted, alerting the men. They turned to face the edge of the forest, and saw Gawain emerge with his men. Four of them, including Gawain, carried the carcass of an immense elk; the other four men carried two Romani shields each. 'Simon!' Gawain shouted, mockingly, 'It looks like you've lost your commander! I hope the griffin hasn't eaten him!' 

'No, sir, not as far as I know,' replied Simon, coolly. It was widely known that Gawain and Robin did not get along, and Tom could see that Simon did not want to get involved in their feud. 'What do you think of our freshly killed trap?' Gawain continued. 'I do hope that Griffin's griffin likes venison! I imagine it'll find this prime cut hard to resist.'

'Perhaps so, Sir,' replied Simon, not rising to the bait. 'Now, if you'll excuse us?' 

'Of course, Simon,' Gawain said. 'But you'd better hurry up. After all, someone has to be last, and I'd so hate it to be Robin.'

Gawain made his way to a nearby copse of trees, and helped his men hoist up the elk into a middle height branch. Tom was impressed - the men were a tightly trained unit, and even if hunting the elk had cost Gawain some valuable time, at this stage he was more confident in the Cymraeshman than in his own commander. Gawain tied the elk's legs together so that its carcass dangled from the tree, its antlers almost touching the floor. As he was climbing down, the men heard the blare of trumpets once again. That meant both Percival and Kay had captured their marks, and Gawain's platoon was now in direct competition with Robin's. 

Gawain cursed to himself, but he didn't have much time to reflect, because at that moment, Tom heard a ferocious screech from above him. The griffin had obviously smelled the elk, and it was diving towards it through the sky, with talons outstretched. He couldn't believe quite how enormous it was up close - though he had heard legends of these beasts from travellers in the town taverns, he had never seen one for himself before now. 'Get back, men!' shouted Gawain. 'Let him have his dinner. He deserves one final meal before we capture him!'

The great bird landed on the carcass and started to tear it apart with its huge beak. It swallowed a whole leg, bones and all, and was working its way towards the elk's internal organs when Tom heard a second screech from high in the sky. He couldn't believe his luck - it looked like Gawain's trap was going to attract both griffins. At that moment, Simon blew his horn, summoning the rest of the platoon to their location. Then, he took his flute from its case at his belt and put it to his lips. 'Wait!' Tom shouted, 'we don't know what effect that flute will have! We've got them here, and soon they will be sluggish with full bellies - don't throw our chance away!' 

'Sorry, Thomas. Lieutenant's orders - nothing personal. Anyway, we don't want to lose to that scumbag!' 

As the second griffin swooped down to join the feast, Simon blew his flute. The sound was a perfect match to that of the trainers in both pitch and timbre, and the reaction was instantaneous. Both griffins immediately abandoned the elk and bolted towards the centre of the field where they had been released from their cage. They seemed to be racing one another, but the fuller bellied one slowed down and gradually stopped beating its wings, crashing to the floor unconscious. Gawain's men did not miss a beat. Locking their shields together in the style of the Romani soldiers they surrounded the downed bird, and Gawain threw his net over the hapless creature.  _ Drugged,  _ thought Tom. Hawk squadron was in last place, and they would be the ones losing rank and status. He couldn't think about this now, though, and he and the rest of the men chased after the remaining bird as Gawain's trumpeter sounded his clarion call to announce his victory.

The griffin was incredibly fast, and Tom was out of breath by the time he reached the camp. It had not eaten nearly as much of the elk's tainted meat as Gawain's mark, and he wondered if it was feeling any ill effects whatsoever. It swooped back and forth menacingly above the carriages of the assembled lords and ladies, and he noticed that the Tintaglian trainers were looking concerned. Perhaps it was just drugged enough for its natural instincts to override its training, but not so much that it would pass out like the other bird. If that were the case, they were in big trouble. Robin and the other men rejoined the group, similarly breathless, and the lieutenant spoke.

'Better late than never, right chaps? Now, Simon, blow that flute again and let's catch our griffin. We may have lost Prince Arthur's competition, but we should still be able to capture our mark before sundown.'

'Aye, sir,' grunted Simon. He once again played the return command on his flute, but it was ignored. The griffin continued careening through the sky, screeching angrily and wildly slashing its talons at nothing in particular. 'Again!' cried Robin, and Simon complied. This time, the Griffin noticed them, and it swooped down from the sky, crashing into the platoon and breaking their ranks. With its powerful claws it took a swipe at the flautist; Simon jumped back in shock, but it was too late, and the bird tore his leg clean off at the knee. Simon let out a yowl of pain and the griffin closed in on him, preparing to go in for the kill.

There was a general atmosphere of panic among both the platoon and the lords and ladies of the camp. Prince Arthur's bowmen had their arrows trained on the griffin, but they could not get a clear shot that wouldn't risk killing one or more of the platoon. The Prince himself mounted his horse and grimly started to gallop towards the wounded man. And Robin, clearly out of his depth, ordered the platoon to retreat.  _ I told you so _ , Tom thought grimly. Any sense of smugness he might have felt about being proven right was overwritten by concern for his friend - Simon was a good man, and he had no intention of letting him go down without a fight. 'No!' Tom cried. 'We must try to save him! Men, to me!' 

'Thomas, don't throw away your life. That is an order!' shouted Robin. 'It's too dangerous!' 

Tom did not reply, but turned to face the huge bird. He could not simply leave his friend to die - the prince could not reach them in time, and even fully armoured as he was he may not have been able to defeat the enraged creature. There was only one thing for it. He would have to use his power.

Much to the disappointment of his mother Mary, Tom had never been much of a sorcerer. He had shown no talent whatsoever for air, fire or ice magic; he was completely unable to send messages through clairvoyance, although he could receive them; and he never had the patience required to master alchemy or the art of disguise. But he did have one power that he could use, albeit weakly and sporadically. Tom was able to generate small sparks of electricity, the fourth element, and although his gift had never been particularly strong, he hoped that it would be enough to at least distract the griffin until Prince Arthur could arrive to even the odds a little. Simon screamed once again as the bird closed in on him, and Tom let out a spark from the tips of his fingers. He hoped that no one was watching too closely - but he couldn't just leave Simon to die. The spark hit the griffin on the back of its head, and it turned to face him. 

Even more enraged now, the griffin began advancing on Tom. He realised that his only chance was to lead it to the marsh, where the conductivity of the water would increase the range and strength of his electric outbursts. He ran as fast as he could towards the swampy area, the griffin furiously giving chase. He made it with seconds to spare, the great bird snapping at his heels. Jumping up onto a rocky outcrop, he plunged his hands into the watery marsh and with all the power he could muster he sent a jolt of electricity through the water. 

The result was instantaneous. The griffin let out a screech of pain before falling unconscious into the muddy water. Prince Arthur was almost within reach now, but Tom no longer needed his help. Calmly, he took his wooden sword from his belt, and held it against the bird's throat. 'In the name of Hawk Platoon, I claim dominance over this griffin!' he roared. The trumpets once again sounded, and Arthur's first challenge for the new recruits was complete.


	11. Chapter 11

Arthur felt like there was a huge weight bearing down on his chest. His breathing felt laboured and forced. He was devastated. He had been assured that the griffins had been painstakingly trained never to attack a human - and yet, one of his new recruits lay crippled in a pool of his own blood. Having established that the rogue griffin had been neutralised, he turned his horse around and galloped over to where the injured man lay. The Tintaglian soldiers had been so sure… but ultimately it was his responsibility, and he couldn't blame anyone but himself. He had taken a risk, both in trusting the foreigners and in putting his own men into harm's way. It appeared that his gamble had been a foolhardy one, and one of the men would now pay the price.

_ That's results oriented thinking, Arthur! _ came the voice of his tutor Sir Andrew in his head. He knew that he shouldn't change his assessment of the quality of his plan just because things hadn't worked out exactly as he'd hoped. Camelot still sorely needed some sort of aerial defence, and having four griffins to train with the four new Kingsguard platoons was intellectually the right thing to do. And he knew the risk was minimal - the Tintaglian soldiers had confirmed this, and he had posted teams of trained bowmen just in case. Nevertheless, knowing this didn't stop him feeling like he had just been punched in the gut. When he looked at Simon, once one of Hawk Platoon's best fighters, and now reduced to serving his unit as an auxiliary at best, he felt utterly hopeless. 

As the medics hoisted Simon's huge form onto a stretcher and rushed him off to the castle infirmary, where Gaius and the other physicians would no doubt tend to his injuries, Arthur summoned the platoons. Four of the men led the great birds that they had captured, and the units seemed to coalesce around them. The relatively few lords and ladies who remained in the stands awaited a grim spectacle, the commanding officer denouncing his troops' poor performance. But they weren't going to receive one today. 

'Men!' shouted Arthur, 'We cannot debrief fully until Simon of Hawk Platoon has had a chance to recover his strength.'  _ He would never recover his strength, not fully.  _ 'Go back to your barracks, stable the griffins in the aviary, and get some rest. We will talk in detail in a few days' time. Dismissed!'

Arthur noticed Lieutenant Robin attempting to object, but he would accept no argument today. The men filed sluggishly away, and Arthur sensed a feeling of dejection and despair in spite of the victories that they had won. Thomas now sported a higher rank in gemstones than his erstwhile commander - he supposed that he would have to make him the platoon Lieutenant when they next met. Thinking about it, how the hell did Thomas manage to stop the griffin in its tracks? He had seen him throw a rock at it to distract it from Simon - but he had no idea how he had subdued it once he had lured it over to the marshy wetlands. 

Still atop his horse, he was pondering this problem when he spotted Morgana's serving girl Gwen running towards him from the over by the spectator stands, her eyes brimming with floods of tears. He noticed that her maid's uniform was uncharacteristically uneven and dishevelled, and realised that she must have missed the entire show, as it seemed that she had been running for some distance. 'Your Highness!' she wailed, 'please, you must come quickly! Your sister - Morgana - she's missing!' 

'Missing?!' roared Arthur, in disbelief. 'How can she possibly be missing? There are guards at her door, and the castle gates are watched day and night!'

'I don't know, Your Highness!', Gwen cried. 'I was bringing Morgana her lunch, and when I arrived at her chambers I discovered that the guard outside her room was dead. His skull had been shattered somehow - there was blood everywhere! When I went in to check on the lady Morgana, she was not there. I searched the whole castle before I came out here - she is nowhere to be found! Oh, Your Highness, what are we to do?! What could have become of my fair mistress?'

Something didn't quite seem right with Gwen's account, but Arthur couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was. Perhaps the poor woman was simply traumatised - likely she had never seen a corpse before, and he knew that she and Morgana had grown up together, even if not as equals. 'I will come immediately, Gwen, and we will figure out what is going on, ' Arthur said, in a commanding voice. 'Kingsguard, with me! Ride hard to the castle keep! Something terrible may have happened to the King's ward!'

  
_ From bad to worse,  _ Arthur thought. He had no idea who might want to kidnap Morgana - but whoever it was, he knew that they must be exceedingly dangerous. If Morgana had truly been taken from the castle, her abductor must have been able to disguise her somehow. This meant that, more than likely, sorcery was involved. The same vile forces that had killed his mother in front of his eyes now conspired against his adoptive sister. He swore that he would find whomever was responsible and make them pay for what they had done. 


	12. Chapter 12

* * *

A few days had passed since Lady Morgana's kidnapping, and even the normally oblivious Merlin had noticed the change in atmosphere in Camelot Keep. Upon learning about the disappearance of his beloved ward, Uther had immediately decreed that the Kingsguard division assigned to guard the Royal quarters that day was to be decimated. Decimation was an old Romani punishment that involved lining up an entire military division in a single straight line and then executing every tenth man. As far as Merlin knew, no monarch or general had attempted anything like this since the Romani left Albion, and it was brutal even by the tyrant king's standards. It had left the survivors utterly demoralised, and the rest of the Kingsguard weren't doing much better. The castle had been placed on lockdown, and the guards were performing their duties with the furious zeal of those who feared for their own lives should they fail.

With the atmosphere being as febrile and tense as it was, Merlin was particularly surprised to receive a note, tucked into the front flap of a book he had borrowed from the library. In a neat, flowing cursive, the note read:

_ Sunday. Two o'clock. Inside the lone chestnut tree next to the Waystone Inn. _

Of course, there was no way Merlin would be able to slip away from the castle with the guards being on such high alert. He hadn't even dared to check to see whether Kilgharrah might grant him another audience, in case he accidentally ended up in one of Uther's dungeons. Nevertheless, he was glad that Gaius' confidant had been in touch - he was desperate to learn more about his abilities, and being stuck in the castle just wasn't working. At least when things calmed down a bit, he would finally be able to learn something about himself and his peculiar abilities. In the meantime, he decided that he would go about his lessons and duties as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He continued to help Gaius with his lab work, to study in the library, and take his normal lessons in history and natural science with the old man. And, after his class with Gaius on Saturday afternoon, his patience paid off.

'Merlin, my boy?' said Gaius, with an intense look in his rheumy eyes. 'I forgot to mention something. I have suggested to the King that I could read the tea leaves, as it might reveal something of the Lady Morgana's location. I was wondering if you could go to the markets tomorrow and pick me up the necessary herbs?'

'Gaius,' replied Merlin, 'surely you don't believe in that nonsense? How can random patterns of leaves in the bottom of a teacup reveal anything about the nature of the universe, beyond the gullibility of the people who pay good money to be duped by confidence tricksters?' 

'Merlin!' the old man shouted. 'Listen to me! I need you to go into Camelot Town tomorrow and fetch me the correct ingredients for the prophetic tisane. The King himself has signed the order sending you to the market tomorrow afternoon. I'm sure you wouldn't want to disappoint him.' Although Gaius seemed to berate Merlin, he silently walked over to the well-stocked tea cupboard, pointed at the variety of useless herbs, and shot Merlin that look he knew so well that meant  _ Quit while you're ahead, boy. _

'Of course, Sir. I'll make sure to pick up everything you might need. I know that some of the ingredients are rare, and it might take quite some time…'

'Indeed!' interrupted the old man. 'I wouldn't expect you back before sundown. The King has even provided funds from the treasury for you to complete this vital task. Take this!' 

Gaius handed him a purse, containing more gold than he had ever seen in one place, outside of the alchemy labs.  _ The sly dog!  _ thought Merlin. Even if he really did need to buy the tea leaves and herbs, the cost wouldn't come close to the amount of money he now carried. He wondered why Gaius had requested it - the old man had never been wasteful, and Merlin had a feeling that, one way or another, he would end up forced to spend every last coin before he returned home that evening. 'Thank you, sir. I will be as fast as I can,' said Merlin, feeling truly grateful.

'Don't rush anything, boy!', answered Gaius with a knowing grin. 'It's very important that we get everything just right. I would rather you took twice as long and came back with the correct leaves than rushed things in your usual slap-dash fashion!'

'Noted!' replied Merlin. Although he knew Gaius was (mostly) putting on a performance for the guards, it still smarted a little to have his work referred to like that by his mentor. He resolved not to let it bother him, though, and, tying the purse to his belt-strap, he left the castle labs and headed towards the main gate. 

Once the guards on the door had seen the King's signature on the order, they barely looked at it twice before waving him through. He wasn't surprised - no sane soldier would want anything to do with Uther at this stage if he could avoid it, such were his random outbursts.  _ It's a coordination problem,  _ he thought to himself as he walked the mile or so from the Keep to the main market square.  _ If all the soldiers somehow organised to simultaneously revolt against Uther's tyrannical regime, his head would be on a spike by the end of the day. But, so long as there was no way for the common soldiers to communicate with each other openly, any single dissenter would be punished by the group. In fact, a dissenter would be punished in the harshest possible terms, so that the rest of the group could signal their own devotion to whatever bizarre and irrational measure the king was currently fixated upon and prove their own loyalty. Troubling, how tyrants everywhere ruled with the express consent of the people only because the people had to falsify their preferences to survive. _

It was a tricky conundrum, and one to which Merlin had no particular answer. He thought about the problem as he strolled into town, noticing vaguely how quiet the streets had become in recent days. It was only when he spotted the grand market square that he realised that he had gone a little bit further than he had originally intended, the Waystone Inn being on a side road just off the main highway between the market and the keep. Unlike the road into town, the market was bustling with activity. Traders from Tintagel and Cymru, farmers and shepherds from the surrounding countryside, and exotic goods merchants from overseas all haggled with each other, fighting to be heard over the general din of the market. One stall was selling the services of mercenary guards, another had a couple of wilddeoren chained up for sale, no doubt for use in the illegal underground fighting rings popular in Camelot Town. Merlin felt incredibly sorry for the poor creatures - he suspected from their similarities with the naked mole rat that they were eusocial animals, and to be removed from their colony must have caused them immense distress. 

Distracted by the plight of the wilddeoren, he was surprised when someone bumped into him, hard. 'Watch where you're going, mate!', came the cry of a rampaging street urchin. His first thought was for his purse, but he was pleased to find that it and its contents were still firmly attached to his belt. He needed to stop dawdling and make his way to the Waystone Inn to discover exactly what Gaius' contact had in store for him. With a renewed sense of purpose, he headed back towards the main highway that led towards both Camelot Keep and the Waystone Inn. 

He didn't get very far. Upon returning to the main market square, he spotted Prince Arthur, blocking the main road back to the castle, and aggressively questioning anyone who attempted to pass, no doubt as part of the effort to find Morgana. Accompanied by a whole platoon of Kingsguard recruits, the Prince seemed incredibly tightly wound, as if ready to snap at anyone or anything that dared to cross his path. But Merlin had to get past him and his cronies, and he had the perfect alibi. If there was one person whose word counted for more than the Prince's, it was King Uther. 

Merlin strolled casually up to the officer who seemed to be the platoon commander. 'Excuse me, sir?' he asked, in his most cloyingly sycophantic tone of voice. 'I am on a special mission on the King's orders, and I must travel to the Waystone Inn with haste. Might you consent to let me pass?' 

He hoped he hadn't come across too sarcastic - he really did feel for these officers. But he had always had problems with authority, and sometimes he just couldn't help himself. 'Sir?' called the officer, 'this young man claims to be on a mission for your father. Says he needs to go up the Waystone. Know anything about this?'

'Just a moment, Percival, I'll be right over,' said the Prince tersely. He jumped down from his horse and jogged over. 'I recognise you. You're Gaius's ward, aren't you? What was your name again?' 

'It's Merlin, your Highness' 

'Merlin, this is the first I've heard about any secret mission for my father,' continued the prince. 'I suppose it's not out of the question, though. What exactly are you here to do?' 

'Divination,' said Merlin. 'I've been sent out by my master to search out some herbs and tea leaves for the tisane. Gaius will no doubt be able to interpret them, and apparently this could help in revealing the Lady Morgana's location.'

'I see,' replied Arthur. 'A reasonable proposition - but why are you going to the Waystone Inn then? Surely you could buy everything you would need in the market here?' 

'I'm meeting someone there with a… particular ingredient,' improvised Merlin, unconvincingly. 'It's not strictly needed for the tisane, but it's a little… sensitive, so I would rather not mention it in front of the men. I'm sure you'd understand.  _ Just in case these things are hereditary.'  _ Although he felt that he was perhaps flying a little close to the sun here, he was enjoying it immensely, and Uther's signed orders would get him out of any trouble. He suspected that even the crown prince feared his father's wrath, particularly at the moment.

'Surely you're not implying what I think you are,' snapped Arthur. 'It would be rather inconvenient for you if my father were to find out, special mission or no. Now, I need you to tell me exactly what it is that you are doing here, or I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you into custody until my father confirms that you are indeed allowed to roam around freely.'

Merlin decided that it was time to stop poking the bear. 'My apologies, your Highness. I have exactly the confirmation you need here. Your father sent me out with a signed order to expedite my mission. Here it is.'

Merlin reached to his belt and pulled out the crumpled up note that was attached to it, and handed it to the prince. 'I trust that you can actually read?' he muttered under his breath.

Arthur uncrumpled the piece of paper and read it over. The look on his face changed to one of utter rage. Merlin could immediately sense that something was deeply wrong.

'What insolence is this?!' the prince roared. 'Guards! Seize this man! The temerity… You wretch! How is it that a scrawny nobody like you dares to insult me?! I could take you apart with a single blow!' 

Merlin briefly considered  _ I could take you apart with much less than that  _ as a retort, but then realised how stupid it would be to reveal the fact that he was a sorcerer to the entire platoon. He wondered what had gone wrong, and then it hit him. The urchin in the market hadn't stolen his purse. He'd stolen something far more important. And he'd somehow replaced it with a note that had made the prince apoplectic with rage. He had no idea who might be setting him up, but he knew he needed to act, and fast. As quick as a hunting griffin, he bolted towards the market stalls, into the busy crowd and away from the heavily armoured prince and his equally encumbered Platoon. He gave himself pretty good odds of hiding out in the marketplace, as he would almost certainly be faster than any of the armoured men, and it was easy to disappear among the bustling stalls. As soon as Arthur cross checked his story with Uther, it would become clear that he had been set up, so he didn't fear any permanent repercussions. As he desperately wanted to make his appointment with Gaius' acquaintance, hiding out for a little while until things calmed down was his only option. 

All this made sense in theory, but it turned out that Prince Arthur was preternaturally fast, and he was making rapid gains on the fleeing Merlin, despite his full suit of armour. Something had to be done. Merlin saw a trader from the vast southern continent, who was selling olive oil by the barrel, known colloquially as liquid gold for its immense market value. With apologies to the god of finance, he snapped his fingers, and the entire stack of barrels rolled over, directly into the Prince's path. He hoped they were well sealed so that the hapless merchant didn't lose too much equity from his reckless actions. The prince fell over a barrel, face first, into the muddy street, but was quickly up on his feet again, clearly enraged. Merlin took a sharp left in an attempt to escape, but the prince followed hot on his heels. He was now in the textiles district, where cloth merchants and tailors competed to sell their silks, satins and woollen blankets. He spotted a particularly large piece of cloth - again, he snapped his fingers, and the cloth moved to wrap itself around Arthur's helm. As he watched the prince fumbling around, temporarily blinded, he felt a rough hand on his shoulder, and immediately after, another over his mouth. He had been caught. 

He was dragged roughly backwards, away from the struggling prince, and taken inside a small market building, down a set of well worn stairs, into a basement storeroom. His captor was completely silent, not saying a word. He turned to look at the man - no, not a man, a woman, and a strikingly beautiful one at that. He could not guess her age from looking at her - it could be anything from thirty to sixty - and he opened his mouth to speak, but she motioned him to silence. She pushed him forwards, and he discovered that the storeroom had a false wall - behind it was a door to a roughly cut tunnel, which had clearly been dug out of the dirt by something inhuman. The woman signalled him to walk along the tunnel - and it was only after they had walked for about a mile that she spoke. 

'How could you have been so fucking STUPID?!' she screamed. 'Gaius told us he was sending his most promising student, and we end up with someone brazenly using magic in the most public of places, and almost bringing the prince down upon our heads?' 

'A pleasure to meet you too,' said Merlin sardonically. 'With respect, I don't think anyone noticed. I made sure to only move things very slightly, that could happened through the natural course of events. Who are you, anyway, to be scolding me like my mother?!' 

'You have absolutely no idea how wrong you are,' the woman replied, a little calmer now. 'My name is Mary, and it is only because of your telepathic sending that I was able to locate you so quickly. It was so loud and so uncontrolled that anyone with the slightest bit of magical ability could hear it. Pray that none of Arthur's platoon have the gift - or you are a dead man walking.'

'Telepathic sending?! What are you talking about?!' replied Merlin. 'I don't think I did anything of the sort!' 

'You really don't know what you did?' said Mary, shocked. 'Perhaps the old coot was right after all. You really must be gifted, to have sent a message like that without anyone knowing. In any case, we will soon find out!' 

'You're clearly admitting to me that you are a sorcerer, and you have come to my rescue after I've done something overwhelmingly stupid without my knowledge, so I suppose I should thank you for that,' replied Merlin. 'But what is going on? Where am I, and how do you know Gaius?'

'We are in the wilddeoren tunnels. This was once a great warren, home to an immense queen wilddeoren deep under Camelot town. Nowadays, we few remaining sorcerers use it to hide from the tyrant's forces, and to protect our knowledge and skills, passing it on to the next generation. But you don't need me to tell you any of that. We're almost here, and the Mistress will explain far better than I can.'

Merlin had plenty more questions, but it was clear that Mary had no interest in answering them. So, they walked on in silence for a little longer, until they came to a huge chamber. Surrounded by the roots of what must have been an enormous tree, the space was, somewhat surreally, laid out like a schoolroom, with a chalk board at one end, and individual desks occupied by a handful of students. At the front of the room stood the most beautiful woman Merlin had ever seen. She turned to him and Mary, and spoke. 

'Merlin! So glad you could join us. Gaius has told me all about you. Welcome to the Old Chestnut Tree. Please, take a seat, we haven't started yet, we're still waiting for one more student to arrive. My name is Nimue, and I am the Mistress here. I will be responsible for your education in the arts of sorcery.'


	13. Chapter 13

'I'm sorry, Sir. He's gone. We've searched the entire market. It's almost as if he has used magic to make himself disappear.' Percival seemed beyond contrite, as if he blamed himself for the entire debacle. 

'Don't worry, Lieutenant. It isn't your fault, I ought to have been able to catch him sooner myself - he had a very lucky escape. And, judging by my father's accounts of the power of sorcerers, we don't need to worry on that front. If he were truly a sorcerer, we wouldn't be having this conversation.' Arthur felt humiliated, but he knew that his getting tangled up in a hanging clothesline and failing to catch Gaius' ward was his own fault. He had been too eager to catch the impudent little wretch, and for some reason he had seen red. Although he was usually able to take an insult with equanimity, even one delivered in such an unorthodox way, he had been stressed out by Morgana's disappearance, and thus had reacted overly hastily.

'Sir, there's one other thing,' Percival continued. 'There is absolutely no sign of the Lady Morgana anywhere in the market. Should we move on to searching outside of the city?'

'No, Percival,' replied Arthur, 'the Kingsguard scouts are handling the search beyond the city walls. If she has been taken outside of Camelot, they will find her. It's getting late - we will resume the search tomorrow. We ought to return to the keep. I'll see you at 1900 in the infirmary. Dismissed!'

It had been almost a week since the platoons' first challenge, and events in Camelot had overtaken Arthur somewhat. He had managed to find a little time to visit Simon, the poor soldier who had lost his leg to the griffin, but the wretch had been drifting in and out of consciousness, so he hadn't yet had the chance to fully debrief everyone on the day's events. That was about to change, though, as Gaius had reluctantly allowed him to assemble the platoons in the infirmary that evening. He wasn't quite sure how to assess the platoons' challenge - it had been a mixed success at best. Although each unit had succeeded in taming its griffin, it had come at a steep cost, and there were mutterings around court that his unconventional training tactics were not worth the hassle. There were also still some things he did not understand. What made the final griffin go berserk and attack the camp? How had Thomas Collins managed to subdue the rampaging beast? He hoped he would have all the answers by the end of the evening. 

After he had bathed, changed, and eaten a light meal of venison stew, he went down to the infirmary a little early. He hoped to catch Simon before the other soldiers arrived, but he also wanted to ask Gaius about his ward's erratic behaviour. Unfortunately, when he arrived, the old man was nowhere to be found.  _ Typical,  _ thought Arthur. He would be sure to stop by Gaius' chambers later on to get to the bottom of everything. For now, though, he made his way through the infirmary's main ward to the private chamber in the back, reserved for serving members of the Kingsguard. As he entered the private chamber, Simon gave him a weak salute. 'Reporting for duty… as ordered… Sir!'

'At ease, soldier,' said Arthur with a smile. 'Gaius tells me the wound is healing nicely. How are you feeling?' 

'Like I've lost a leg!' chuckled Simon, putting on a brave face, but obviously still in pain. 'Sir, I just want you to know that I don't blame you for this. I did what I had to do, and I'd do it again.'

Arthur was taken aback by the man's cheery attitude - he  _ did  _ blame himself, and had been expecting recriminations - at the very least, an emotionally unstable soldier. 'Simon, what happened out there? What did Hawk Platoon do to rile up the griffin to such an extent that it attacked the caravans? Or was it less well trained than Cenred's men made it out to be?' 

'Sir, it was my fault. I played the flute, like the trainers… We tried to cheat the system. I admit, I had my doubts, just like Thomas, but I went along with the commander's plan.' 

'I understand,' said Arthur, more confused now than he had been earlier, but not wanting to press the man. 'The rest of the platoons will be here soon. I won't ask you any more questions until they arrive, but if there is anything at all that we can do for you, please do let me know. In Camelot, we look after our own.'

'Thank you, sir! I appreciate it,' Simon replied.

It wasn't long until the platoons came piling into the infirmary. The Kingsguard chambers became cramped with so many men competing to fill the space, but Arthur had deliberately chosen this - he wanted the men to come to terms as soon as possible with the fact that serious injury, or worse, was a very real possibility. He noticed a change in the men's general demeanour - after only a month of training together as platoons, almost all of them seemed more mature, more focussed. All except Hawk, whose commander now sported almost as many gemstones as Gawain, and whose former third had been reduced to the lowest of them all. The men of Hawk seemed demoralised, almost angry, and there was a palpable tension between the commander and the rest of the men. 

'Platoons! Attention!' shouted Arthur. Despite the cramped space, each man quickly saluted and straightened their backs. 'I apologise for the inevitable delay, but with Morgana's disappearance, things have been rather hectic around here. Imagine that - she went to all the trouble of being kidnapped just to avoid marrying one of you lot!'

The men chuckled nervously, not quite sure whether Arthur was joking or not. There was an edge to his voice, a hardness, that hadn't been there before his sister's absence. 'Now that we're all conscious,' the prince continued, 'I would like to hear exactly what happened on the field. Lieutenant Percival - as the first to capture your griffin, more than twice as fast as anyone else, please enlighten us. How did you manage it so quickly?' 

'Sir, I must give credit not just to the men of Eagle Platoon, but also to the extra preparation that giving us the run of the castle storerooms allowed us. My plan was simple. After stocking up on training weapons, nets, and ropes, I asked the kitchen staff for some prime meat. They were happy to oblige. I knew that large birds of prey were likely to seek out high ground, so I had the platoon head for the highest point in the field. It wasn't long until we had our mark in our sights - we laid out a feast for it, and booby trapped its expected landing zone with our nets. It flew right into our snare, and, as the most experienced fighter among our number, I subdued it myself with the wooden blade. But as I said - my part was small - it was mainly our extensive use of the castle's resources that led to our swift capture.'

'Thank you, Percival,' Arthur responded. 'There is an important lesson to be learned here. A commander is only as good as the resources he can muster, be they material or human. Now, onto Lieutenant Kay, who was the next to succeed. What did you and Raptor Platoon do?' 

'Sir, I am exceedingly proud of my platoon, who all played a critical role in capturing the creature.' Kay straightened his sigil proudly before continuing. 'We spent the first hour of the challenge tying together ropes and weaving fabric traps from the cloth that we were given. Once I felt that we had enough, we tracked down the creature. We too had a hunch that the griffins would prefer a higher vantage point, so we headed to a copse of trees in the centre of the field, and set up webs of rope between them. I had the melee fighters hide in the copse, and I and the other bowmen headed into the clearing, where we shot, deliberately wide of the mark, using rubber-tipped arrows. We successfully harried the bird into the woods, where it became trapped in the webs that we had set up, and the melee fighters finished it off. It was Bors who actually persuaded it to submit - the rest of us joined soon afterwards and we sounded our horn.'

'Excellent!' Arthur replied, 'once again you prove that division of labour breeds success. Moving onto the bottom half of the platoons - Gawain, I have heard that your griffin took some time to recover from its ordeal. What did you do to it?' 

'Sir,' Gawain replied, 'it honestly never occurred to me to seek succour from a kitchen wench, unlike certain among our number.' There were chuckles from Griffin platoon, but a stern look from Arthur quickly silenced them. 'We hunted our own meat, and then we lured the animal into our trap, much as Percival's team did. I'm sure he would have taken as long as we had if he didn't have his special relationship with the kitchens.'

Arthur neither knew nor cared about whatever Gawain was insinuating. 'The Lieutenant's personal life is his own business, Gawain. The kitchens would have provided meat to anyone who asked them to - I specifically instructed them as much. While I am impressed that the eight of you took down an elk by yourselves, I only asked for you to hunt one animal, not two. Are you really surprised that you took more than double Percival's time? In any case, I still don't understand why it took your griffin so much longer to regain its composure - it spent almost two days asleep!'

'One of our party had access to some poppy's milk, Sir,' replied Gawain. 'After we felled the elk, we laced its corpse with the intoxicants before the griffins found it.'

'Gawain, I know Cymru is light on law and order, but in Albion, poppy's milk is illegal by royal decree. I won't press any charges, this time, but I expect you to personally discipline the recruit responsible for trafficking in this odious substance.'

'You'll have to discipline half of Camelot,' Gawain muttered. 

'Enough!' bellowed Arthur. 'I will not tolerate this insubordination. Gawain, I have put up with your reckless attitude for long enough. I will give you one final chance - the next time you put a foot out of line, I will disband Griffin Platoon entirely and expel its commander, first, and second from the Kingsguard. I expect anyone with a supply of poppy's milk, however small, to turn it over to Gaius - they are always short of the substance in the infirmary, and at least there it can be useful.'

Amazingly, Gawain immediately changed his tone. His body language became submissive, and he replied to Arthur's outburst with incredible civility given his recent dressing down: 'Sir, I apologise. As you know, customs are somewhat different in my land, and it was me who had the poppy's milk. However, I used the last of it up on the elk, and, if you wish, I will not seek out any more. Please, if you must punish anyone for this unintentional transgression, punish me, not my men.'

Arthur was grudgingly impressed. However pig-headed he was, Gawain was at least loyal to his troops, and this was an important skill in a commander. 'Gawain. The discipline and loyalty you have created among your ranks is commendable, especially given your initial gambit with the gems. But you must remember to ask for help when it is available. Nothing good comes of being overly hierarchical, and too proud to work with other people - they will have skills and resources that you don't. Some say that an army is only as strong as its weakest soldier - although I wouldn't go this far, you mustn't try and conquer the challenges by yourself. You cannot and will not succeed without making full use of the support network that we provide.'

'Yes sir,' replied Gawain, for now mollified. Arthur continued. 'And now, we come to Hawk. I see we have had a demotion - Robin, it seems that you must have had some dissension within your ranks? What happened?' 

'Well, Sir,' replied Robin, 'it really wasn't my fault. I told Thomas that the plan would work - if he didn't spook it by bolting after it so quickly, it never would have come to this.'

'Lieutenant,' replied Arthur, 'it would take far more than a single man chasing it to spook a trained griffin. What was your plan that went so horribly wrong?' 

'Well, sir…' Robin sounded hesitant, as if he wanted nothing more than to escape from the gaze of his now limbless former first officer. 'I knew that Simon had an amazing ear for musical sounds, and when I saw that the birds were controlled by their trainers' pipes, I asked him to replicate the sounds. I was hoping to score a quick victory, Sir. For the sake of the competition.'

'And what actually happened?' asked Arthur, concerned. What command had Simon given the griffin without knowing it?

'Well, it took us a long time to find the griffin. Just our luck, I suppose. When we did, it was eating the same elk that Gawain's lot had drugged. Simon blew his whistle, the opposite pattern to the one that we had heard earlier, and the bird suddenly shot off. We assumed it would return to its roost, but it obviously didn't.'

'Indeed not. And did none of your party dissent from this clearly hare-brained scheme?' asked Arthur, now getting with the foolish man. 

'I did,' interrupted Thomas. 'I bet all but one of gemstones on us not capturing the griffin using this strategy. I didn't want us to fail, but my commander was behaving like a spoilt idiot.'

'Insubordination!' yelped Robin. 'We captured the griffin in the end, so you lost your gemstones fair and square.'

'At the cost of Simon's leg!' Thomas snapped. 'Whatever he did with the flute clearly enraged it - it had the exact opposite of the calming effect you ensured us it would have. And I captured the griffin. You were too busy trying to bravely run away.'

'You captured the griffin because Simon's pipes had made it amenable to being captured. Why else would it suddenly just stop attacking?' retorted Robin petulantly.

'Enough!' interrupted Arthur. 'All of you - Thomas is right. Your scheme had the opposite effect to what you intended - whatever the eventual result, it was solely due to his bravery and courage that your first officer wasn't killed - a fact you seem overly keen to brush under the rug. He single-handedly took down the bird in the end, though I know not how, and therefore he does not deserve to be censured, no matter how low his birth.'

'Respectfully, sir, he bet that we wouldn't capture the griffin,' replied Robin. 'And we did. He was wrong, so he has forfeited his gemstones fair and square.'

'Thomas,' said Arthur, 'how exactly did you take down the griffin at the end? It seemed out for blood, and then suddenly it was completely neutralised.'

'Well, sir,' answered Thomas, a little nervously, 'I believe that Gawain's drugs started to kick in a little later with this bird. It did not eat quite as much of the tainted meat, but that is the only explanation I can give. It was a suicidal risk, and truly I was lucky, not brave.'

'Perhaps the brave get to be so because of their luck,' said Arthur. He then turned to Robin, and continued, 'In any case, your plan was a mess, Lieutenant. You only achieved your capture through Gawain's efforts. You should be ashamed of yourself for trying to take a short cut to success, and for making no contingency plans whatsoever. I expect to see eight of your gems, as agreed, surrendered to Percival as the loser's tax.'

Robin reluctantly removed the gemstones from his sigil, and handed them to the prince. Arthur addressed the men as a group once again. 'Lieutenant Robin's platoon committed one of the cardinal sins of strategy - fixating on a single solution before having considered the problem in full. It seems like only Thomas was intelligent enough to notice this, and, although he did lose his gemstones fairly by the terms he had laid out, I believe that he is the only one of you who displayed any sense whatsoever, and the rest of you would do well to remember that.' 

Arthur handed Robin's gemstones to Percival, and continued: 'Now, Robin's plan was bad because he attempted to tackle a problem with too little information. But it is true that the griffins are trained to respond to whistles. Once Simon is well enough, and if he wishes to continue to serve with the Kingsguard after his ordeal, I would appoint him as Captain of the Aviary. He will train in the proper commands with one of Cenred's Air Force men, and once he has mastered them, will pass on their secrets to those of you with the requisite skills. Simon, I hope this would be agreeable for you?'

'Yes, sir!' Simon replied. 'And I must say - as I will no longer need these, I would like to give them to the man to whom I owe my life.' He unclasped his sigil and handed it to Thomas. 'I'd urge others among you Hawks to do the same. The Lieutenant's plan was bad, and we knew it from the start. We were just too afraid to say so.'

'This is outrageous!' moaned Robin. 'You would side with him over me? I made you my first officer!'

'And you were quite happy to leave me to die in the griffin's talons. I'll take my chances with him,' Simon replied. 

'That's quite enough,' Arthur said brusquely. 'You can squabble over rank in your own time. Dismissed! Except you, Thomas, I need to speak with you alone.'

The men began to file out a few at a time. Most of Hawk's recruits stopped to pay tribute to Simon, and to congratulate him on his promotion; Robin, however, made a speedy exit. Once the room was clear, Arthur motioned to Thomas to walk with him into the main ward of the infirmary. The two men bid Simon a good night's rest, and once they had left, Arthur spoke:

'Be honest, Thomas. What really happened with the griffin at the end there? Surely that sudden effect can't have been the poppy's milk alone?' 

'I honestly have no idea, sir', he replied. I deliberately led it to the swampy water - perhaps it got tired trekking through the mud. All I know is that I'm lucky to be alive.'

'Thomas,' Arthur said, 'that's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. Bravery is one thing, but a suicidal attack that you have practically no hope of winning is quite another. I allowed you to be demoted just now because I wanted you to learn that lesson. Bravery and foolhardiness are two sides of the same coin, and I would hate to lose a talented soldier on account of a surfeit of either.'

'Sir…'. Thomas sighed, 'Yes sir. Of course, you are right. I would accept my demotion with good grace, but it seems that Simon had other ideas about that!' 

'Indeed,' the Prince replied, 'you must be careful now. Robin will be out to get you. Don't let your guard down, and stand your ground where it is necessary. Not that you will have a problem with that!' 

'Thank you, sir,' Tom said. If you don't mind, I want to talk to Simon for a little longer. 

'Of course,' Arthur said, 'I am just leaving, I must track down Gaius. Spend as long as you like. Dismissed!' 

Arthur left as Thomas returned to Simon's private rooms, and he couldn't help wondering why he had a strong feeling that Thomas wasn't telling the whole truth. It was plausible that the drugs took a while to work on the griffin, but he doubted whether that was the whole story. Perhaps he would never know


	14. Chapter 14

Merlin felt like laughing. His situation seemed completely ridiculous. He had just narrowly escaped capture by Prince Arthur's army, been kidnapped and dragged through a secret underground network of tunnels, and, finally, had ended up exactly where he wanted to be, sat at a small wooden desk at the front of an illegal classroom, deep underneath Camelot Town's busy streets - the mere existence of which would send the king into paroxysms of rage. In the back of his mind, he was a little concerned about how he would explain his altercation with the prince to Gaius later on, but he decided to file that away as a problem for Future Merlin to deal with, and pay attention to what was going on around him.

The teacher, Nimue, cut an imposing figure in front of the half-empty classroom. Her long, dark hair was braided in a single plait that ran almost all the way down her back. Merlin was surprised at how young she looked, given the respect she clearly commanded within the underground community. She looked to be in her early twenties, only a little older than Merlin himself, and yet she presented herself with an easy grace and confidence that made her seem very much in charge. This was more than could be said for the rest of the students. Although the chamber was easily big enough for fifty or so people, less than half the desks were occupied, and the ones that were seated a ragtag bunch of misfits from every single group in Camelot's social hierarchy, everyone from the son of a lord who Merlin recognised from Uther's fancy state banquets to a freed Moorish slave. There were approximately twice as many women as men, a fact which surprised Merlin, as the stereotypical evil sorcerer of royal propaganda was a psychopathic and violent man. Without exception, the students seemed downtrodden and terrified, which Merlin supposed was the natural result of them living in constant fear for their lives.

Merlin heard a faint scratching noise from the wall behind him, and he turned around to see what was going on. The tree roots that covered the wall parted to reveal a small door cut into the clay. The door opened, and through it stepped a fully liveried member of the Kingsguard. Merlin almost jumped out of his skin. 

'Shit!' he shouted, 'they've found me! Got to go!'. He got up as if to start running, but his arms and legs suddenly felt heavy, and he sank back into his chair. 

'Don't worry about Thomas, Merlin,' chuckled Nimue. 'He couldn't hurt a fly, even if he wanted to. He has just come to visit his mother. Once upon a time, he was a student here, but he left us, on account of his severely underdeveloped talent. He is a good man, though, and he took the Kingsguard oath so that we could have a man on the inside.'

Merlin thought that Thomas looked uncomfortable at this description, and he wondered just how reliable Nimue's man on the inside was. But, in a rare display of restraint, he decided to keep his mouth shut for now, not least because she had somehow managed to restrain him so effortlessly, and he didn't know what the limits of her abilities might be. Thomas took a seat at the back of the classroom, and Merlin wondered if he was the final student whom Nimue had referred to. He didn't have to wonder long, as yet another passageway opened up in the wall, seemingly of its own accord, in yet another patch of wall that had been covered with roots until that moment. Mary came through the hidden door, accompanied by an older woman, who, judging by her clothes, was clearly one of Camelot's servants.

'Please allow me to present Tenebria, lady in waiting to the court at Camelot!' announced Mary. Unlike the lordling, Merlin didn't recognise this one, but that wasn't particularly surprising. There were plenty of servants in the keep with whom Merlin would have no daily interaction whatsoever. 

'Hmm, Tenebria, is it now?' said Nimue, her head cocked to one side. 'Well, whoever you are, you are very welcome here. Like it or not, all of us here are equal in the eyes of the vile king.' 

'Thank you, my lady Nimue,' Tenebria replied. 'I am so pleased to be among friends at last. I have lived in fear not only for my own life, but also for that of my family, should anyone ever find out my secret.' 

_ That's Morgana!  _ Merlin thought. It was all he could do to keep himself from bursting out of his chair in surprise. The woman who called herself Tenebria looked almost nothing like the king's ward, but that tone of voice was unmistakable. It wasn't surprising that she was keeping her true identity concealed - as the most wanted person in Camelot, it was sensible for her to maintain a low profile. As to how she had changed her appearance - well, Merlin would ask her later on himself. Perhaps this was another type of sorcery of which he knew nothing, and if so, he was desperate to learn.

'Hush, everyone,' Nimue said, silencing the class with a quick wave of her hand. 'Our new students have all arrived now, and it's time for us to begin. As always, when we have new blood, we will go over the fundamentals of magic - it can't hurt to refresh our intermediate students' memory, and I will be calling on some of the more seasoned veterans of the class to explain some of the concepts for us. Firstly, can anyone tell me: what is sorcery?' A hand shot up. 'Yes - Nicolas?' 

The freed Moorish slave stood up and spoke, without accent: 'Sorcery, in its most basic form, is knowledge of the seven arts: clairvoyance, concealment, alchemy, augury, thaumaturgy, verbal enchantment, and mastery of the four elements. Very few sorcerers have the skill to master all seven of these arts, but it is this mastery to which all good sorcerers strive.'

'Very good, Nicolas,' Nimue said. But Merlin's hand shot up immediately. 'Yes, Merlin?' 

'With respect, Nimue,' Merlin replied, 'that doesn't seem like an explanation so much as a list of things that at least some sorcerers can do. Why are you including these things in particular in the category of sorcery? What is it that makes them sorcery, and not just another ability that people can have? We don't claim that the birds are magical because they can fly, though a flying human would be truly incredible.'

'Merlin,' replied Nimue, sternly. 'You're new here, and there is much for you to learn. The day might come when flying humans don't seem nearly as unbelievable to you! But your question is a good one, if a little presumptuous. Put simply, the skills of the sorcerer are highly unusual, and not all people display the ability. That's how we distinguish these seven arts from common human abilities.'

'I'm sorry, Nimue, if you find me presumptuous. A lot of people do, and I do my best to avoid it, though I'm not always successful! But I'm afraid I still don't find this definition to be satisfactory. There are plenty of rare talents that only certain people possess - for example, a good memory, or the ability to master any musical instrument and mimic pitch. Not everyone has these abilities, but we don't claim that they are magical. The arts Nicolas lists may all be things that are closely related to sorcerers, but I see no reason why they should be so linked, unless I'm missing something?'

'Merlin,' replied Nimue, 'my grandmother was a Dragonlord, and her grandmother came here from Avalon itself. My family have been sorcerers for generations. I think I know what I'm talking about when I tell you what sorcerers can and can't do!' 

Merlin was confused. 'A Dragonlord? Avalon? I'm sorry, but I don't know anything about either of these things. I am fairly new to this, after all! Would you be so kind as to explain?' 

Nimue sighed. 'Gaius did mention that you would be a handful! Very well. The sorcerers came to Albion from the lost island of Avalon, and the Dragonlords, the most powerful among them, were their kings and queens. Before the Dragonlords came here, sorcery as we know it today simply did not exist.'

'Interesting!' exclaimed Merlin. 'So, instead of saying that sorcery is these ten arts…'

'Seven arts!' interrupted Nicolas, annoyed. 

'...sorry, seven arts,' continued Merlin, oblivious, 'we could equally say that it consists of abilities that the sorcerers from Avalon had, and the native population didn't?' 

'Well,' replied Nimue, 'not exactly. Augury has been around since Romani times, and verbal enchantment and thaumaturgy longer still. The arts of concealment and alchemy are practiced in a limited form by normal, non-magical people, though sorcerers have the edge. The other arts, though, yes, they were brought to this country by the Dragonlords and their servants, and as their descendants, we are duty bound to keep them alive.'

'Okay, interesting,' said Merlin. 'I still don't think we have a particularly good definition here, but the idea of the Dragonlords intrigues me. Is there any chance you could explain what each of the arts is so I can get more of a handle on it?'

'It just so happens that I was about to do that,' replied Nimue. 'But Merlin, you must realise, you're not the only student in this class! Try listening for a while, and you might learn something, before asking any more questions.'

_ Point taken,  _ thought Merlin. To be fair, he had been used to one on one lessons with Gaius, and had perhaps been acting inappropriately given the classroom context. Besides, he knew next to nothing about sorcery, and, even if Nimue' s explanation didn't seem to make sense, perhaps he should listen to it anyway before trying to pick holes in it, as he knew very well that there would be plenty for him to learn from what these people did not consider common knowledge, and from what they omitted from their reports.

'Now,' continued Nimue, 'as Merlin has so kindly suggested, I'd like to invite some of our senior students and professors to explain each of the arts in turn, and what might be accomplished by its application. I'll go first, and I'll deal with the most exciting of the arts: elemental mastery. Take a look!'

A gust of wind suddenly swept through the chamber, though there were currently no doors in the wall for it to come from. It extinguished the candles that lit the room, and the class was left in darkness. But not for long - the candles seemingly spontaneously relit, and, when they did, a block of ice in the shape of a large turtle floated into the centre of the room. It melted almost as fast as it appeared, and created a small puddle of water in a slight indentation in the chamber floor. The show wasn't finished, though - a spark of lightning suddenly shot out from Nimue's fingertips, and jumped across the room, electrifying the puddle before dissipating. The class burst into a spontaneous round of applause.

Nimue interrupted them. 'Wind. Fire. Ice. And electricity, or the power of the storm. These are the four elements available to a good sorcerer. Learn to master all of them, and you need fear nothing short of a whole army of Kingsguard warriors. The majority of sorcerers show at least a little ability with wind and fire. Ice is less common, and electricity rarer still. Many sorcerers can go their whole lives without succeeding to command their inner storm. As a direct descendant of the dragonlords, I have never personally had that problem!

Merlin was dying to pipe up and tell Nimue that, according to the latest alchemical research, there were over one hundred elements, and none of wind, fire, ice, or electricity counted among their number, but he decided instead to listen to what the supposed alchemy expert, Nicolas, would have to say. He was up next, and he took to the stage confidently, giving Merlin a sidelong sneer that he wasn't sure was altogether pleasant or well intentioned. 

'Alchemy is the subtlest of the seven arts, and perhaps the most complicated. Although plenty of regular people claim to be alchemists of a sort, only sorcerers can fully lay claim to that title. By infusing the natural substances of alchemy with the power of the four elements, I have the power to create potions and tinctures that can alter the very fabric of reality. My creations can kill; they can heal; they can create passionate love or bitter hatred. They even allow me to speak directly with the old gods.’   
  
_ These people clearly have absolutely no idea what they’re talking about!  _ Merlin thought to himself indignantly. Nicolas’ account of alchemy flew in the face of everything Gaius had ever taught him, and, while he was reasonably sure that most of the so-called alchemist’s creations worked, he was equally sure that any explanation that he gave would be woefully inadequate. As for the stuff about the gods - he would need to see a god disemboweled and preserved in formaldehyde in a glass specimen jar before he would ever believe in one. He saw no reason to drop his standards of skepticism over the supernatural just yet.   
  
The next speaker was Mary, the woman whom Merlin had already met - and he hoped that she, at least, would be a little more practical. Despite her brusque manner, Merlin had rather liked her. As she took her position at the front of the chamber, Merlin could see that she was distracted, though, and that her eyes kept glancing towards the back of the room.   
  
‘Students, hear me well, for I will only say this once,’ Mary said. ‘Concealment is fast becoming the most important of the seven arts, given our beloved king’s commitment to Iron Law. Learn with me and I will teach you how to seem wise beyond your years, or youthful despite them. When you have truly mastered the art of concealment, the face you were born with will simply become another mask, another identity, among hundreds. And the truly talented will be able to simply disappear, practically invisible to everyone around them. Although some of you may not display any particular interest, this art might prove indispensable to your survival in today’s climate, so I recommend that you pay attention in my classes!’   
  
_ Finally,  _ thought Merlin,  _ something I can use!  _ Cool, assassin-style disguises were something he’d always wanted to learn about, and if he could truly become invisible, he could once again visit Kilgharrah, despite his promise to Gaius. Presumably, Morgana was already adept at this style of sorcery - her identity as Tenebria had only been revealed to him because she was foolish enough to speak. Had he seen her in person, he would have certainly mistaken her for one of the keep’s many ladies in waiting. He made a mental note to collar Mary as soon as he could and ask her more questions about her art.   
  


Next up was the lordling, whose name was Aster. He had apparently become an expert in two separate arts - that of augury and thaumaturgy. Augury involved predicting future events from reading seemingly random patterns in birds, tea leaves, and so forth - and Merlin knew it to be superstitious nonsense. He had higher hopes for thaumaturgy, magic that could heal the sick, but, upon discovering from Aster that it was reliant on a healthy portion of good luck for its success, he decided that it was probably just a placebo effect. The master of the sixth art, verbal enchantment, was a tiny, wizened old woman named Mab, who seemed more confused than anything else. She spoke in a whisper as she explained how various hexes and incantations could amplify your elemental magic, and cause distant people to behave irrationally. Merlin was skeptical - he couldn’t see any way that this could actually make a difference. It sounded a lot like more superstitious nonsense, frankly, and he was starting to build a picture of what was going on here. These people, forcibly separated from society, had been cut off from the vanguard of science, and thus barely understood what they were doing in terms of anything more than folklore. He was sure that they would have plenty to teach him on practical application of his powers, but he would have to figure out exactly what caused his powers for himself.

Nimue called the final speaker, Kathryn, and there was a sudden expectant hush in the room. A small, mousy woman wearing plain merchant's clothing stood up, and walked to the front of the chamber. She turned to face the class. _Almost all of you should be able to hear me right now. I am able to project my thoughts into your mind, without using my voice. This is the art of clairvoyance. Although most sorcerers can receive the thoughts of other sorcerers, only some can send them like I can._ _With enough training, we clairvoyants can direct our thoughts to a specific person, and insert our thoughts into another's mind so loudly that that person cannot possibly ignore it._

Merlin looked over at the woman who was calling herself Tenebria. Had she heard the prisoner's voice on the feast day too? Was this what had prompted her to finally leave Camelot for good? 

He didn't have a chance to think on it further, as Kathryn's thoughts came hurtling into his mind, like an unwelcome guest. Just for a moment, he felt a sharp pain in his chest, before her barrage of thoughts continued.  _ In my case, unlike many other sorcerers, I don't have a choice but to communicate as a clairvoyant. As a child, my parents noticed my ability to send my thoughts - both my mother and father could receive them, but neither could send them. To stop me from telling anyone about my nascent abilities, they cut out my tongue, and ever since I have been treated by the townspeople as a simpleton, as if I were dumb. I know intellectually that they acted out of love, to try and protect me from Uther's Iron Law, but I am still angry. Angry at the system that forced my parents to make that decision.  _ At this point, she started back to her desk, her face a stony glare, and her thoughts faded to a mere whisper. Merlin suspected that this was directed only at him.  _ New boy, let me give you a piece of advice. You're missing the point of what it is to be a sorcerer entirely. In this world, no one in their right mind would ever choose to be a sorcerer of his own volition. No, you are a sorcerer if the King's evil law deems you to be one, and that is final. That is the only category that matters here, and you would do well to remember that. _

For once in his life, Merlin was dumbstruck. He had lived his whole life under Gaius' protection, and he had never really known the fear that these poor people must have faced on a daily basis. He felt foolish for using his powers as frivolously as he had: if he had been caught, likely Gaius too would have been punished, and he could not bear that. As Nimue returned to the front of the chamber, he tried sending a thought himself:  _ I’m sorry for what you have experienced, Kathryn. Our society is a broken one, that parents could feel compelled to do such terrible things to their own children.  _ _   
_ _   
_ ‘Merlin!’ Nimue shouted, ‘Before you broadcast your thoughts to everyone around you, you need to learn to control the volume!’    
  
‘I’m sorry!’ Merlin replied. ‘I don’t really have any concept of what that would mean!’   
  
‘Well,’ replied Nimue, ‘that will come in good time. For now, we will take a short break - we have arranged a meal from the Waystone Inn upstairs. The proprietor is a good man, and one of us - he will feed us well. Please, come with me - we will take some questions after dinner.’   
  
The students all got up from their chairs, and filed out towards yet another exit that had appeared in the chamber wall in Nimue’s wake. Merlin made a bee-line for the woman calling herself Tenebria, intending to quiz her on how she got out of the keep, but Nimue stopped him in his tracks. ‘Merlin, I’m terribly sorry to ask you this, but Gaius… well, he told me that you would be bringing us his latest contribution? With so few of us left, our resources are stretched to the limit, and we really appreciate Gaius’ support.’   
  
Merlin wondered what she was talking about, and then remembered the purse that Gaius had handed him. He briefly considered keeping it before handing its contents over, less a couple of gold pieces that he kept just in case of emergency. ‘You speak of Gaius as if he were an old friend. How long has he been supporting you?’

Nimue laughed. ‘Never directly. I have never actually met the man. But he has successfully funnelled enough of the King’s money to us over the years to fund a small army. We sorcerers look out for our own - it’s all we can do, with the kingdom being in such a sad state.’

‘Hang on,’ Merlin said in disbelief. ‘We sorcerers. Are you telling me that Gaius is…’   
  
‘A sorcerer?’ Nimue chuckled. ‘You mean, he never told you? Gaius may be deeply closeted, but, if the rumours are true, he is very much a sorcerer, and a powerful one, too.’   
  
For the second time, that evening, Merlin was dumbfounded. ‘One more thing, Merlin’ Nimue continued. ‘Our newest student - Tenebria. You may have met her before in the keep - she certainly remembers you. There’s no reason why the two of you shouldn’t become friends now that you are here - but she has asked that you do not mention her time in service to the Lady Guinevere. It is a period of her life that she would rather forget.’   
  
‘I understand,’ Merlin replied. Gaius? A sorcerer? He would have a lot of questions to ask him that evening. ‘Just one more thing, Nimue, if you don’t mind. Have you ever seen a dragon?’   
  
‘Dragons? No, Merlin.’ Nimue looked slightly sad at the suggestion. ‘Both the dragons and the dragonlords are long gone. All that is left of them are legends.’

  
Nimue turned and walked through the door to the dining room, and Merlin followed. A modest spread had been laid out on a large oaken table - bread, cheese, and dried meats. Merlin scanned the room for Tenebria, and he saw her sitting alone in the corner of the room, her plate of food piled high, but untouched. After grabbing a few slices of jerky, he joined her.    
  
‘Hello Tenebria,’ he said, awkwardly, ‘I’m Merlin. I’m new here too, so I thought you might like to chat. Nimue has told me all about you.’   



	15. Chapter 15

'Merlin, isn't it?' Morgana said, feeling anxious despite her outward composure. She wasn't prepared for this. Mary had warned her that the minor lordling Aster would be there, but he was as insignificant as he was incapable, and she had fortunately only met him at court a handful of times - not enough for either of them to have formed a lasting impression of the other. But Gaius' ward was a different story. Though the two of them had never been close, they had shared classes together, and they had even sat together at Uther's interminable state banquets on more than one occasion. It would be impossible to hide her true identity from Merlin, and this put her at far greater risk than she had anticipated. Could she trust him?

'Food's not bad, is it?' Merlin replied, with a cheeky grin. 'Not quite what we're used to at the keep, though. Of course,' he said, hurriedly, as if correcting himself, 'even the servants eat well in Camelot.'

_ What an idiot!  _ Morgana thought. Merlin was in many ways one of the smartest people she had ever met, and in many ways one of the stupidest. But she knew she had to maintain her persona, even if he was doing everything he could to blow her cover. She smiled sweetly. 'Indeed, they look after us servants well at the keep. However, I live in hope that I won't be going back there anytime soon. For if I was taken there against my will, I don't know how long I would last.'

Merlin seemed to have got the point, and looked at her apologetically. 'I'm sorry, Tenebria. I know memories of the keep must be painful for you. Lady Guinevere is a good woman, and it must be hard for you, being forced to leave her service.'

'I'm surprised that you remember her!' Morgana replied, though she really wasn't. Lady Guinevere was a persona that she and Gwen had invented together when they were children; since then, it had become something that clumsy would-be suitors would use in an attempt at flattery, which often reduced Gwen and Morgana to tears of laughter behind closed doors. In any case, every man with a pulse had heard tales of Lady Guinevere's beauty. 'Anyway,' she continued, eager to change the subject, 'what did you think of the class today?' 

Merlin looked around furtively, then replied under his breath. 'Honestly? I don't think they know what they're talking about. Sure - they have a good deal of practical experience, but they seem to understand the fundamental mechanics behind their abilities about as well as I do - which is to say, not at all.'

'Interesting,' Morgana replied. Not the answer she had expected. Merlin was either hopelessly arrogant or oddly insightful - she too had felt that some of what the sorcerers had said sounded more like fairy stories than anything that could exist in the real world. 'And what would you have them do differently?' 

'Well, some controlled experimentation would be nice!' Merlin replied, a little more animated now, and clearly forgetting to whisper. 'I still don't see any good reason why these things should be linked together. Clearly, we have abilities that ordinary people don't - Nimue's demonstration of so-called elemental magic proved that, and it seems that everyone in the class could hear the clairvoyant, Kathryn. But Mary's classes, while extremely useful, didn't seem particularly magical, and I'll need very good evidence before I'll believe that waving my hands around and shouting  _ Abracadabra! _ can do anything beyond summoning the spirits of the terminally gullible!'

Morgana chuckled, despite herself. 'So you think you know better? These people have lived as sorcerers for their whole lives; they must have some knowledge that we don't.'

'Practically speaking, of course they do,' said Merlin. 'But remember, we come from the incredibly rare and privileged position of actually having had a scientific education. Virtually no one else in the kingdom has had the benefit of having Gaius as a tutor like we have, and the scientific way of thinking that he instilled in us is a gift we shouldn't take for granted. It is no surprise that these people believe in divination and magic by incantation - almost everyone outside of the keep's inner circle does. We are so unbelievably lucky to have been taught to think in a systematic and scientific way, and if we were less fortunate it's as likely as not that we too would be queueing up for love potions and hexing our enemies.'

'I was fortunate indeed that Lady Guinevere insisted on educating her servants in the sciences,' Morgana said sardonically. It didn't look like anyone was listening to them, or she would have been angrier at Merlin for his unintentional indiscretion. 'I agree with you - talk of augury and divination does sounds far-fetched, and I'd be far more confident in the efficacy of a poison than a love potion. But you have to admit, what Nimue was doing was very impressive. Do you really think she doesn't understand what she is doing?'

'Tenebria,' Merlin said, rolling his eyes a little, 'she thinks that fire and electricity are elements. I have no doubt that she has extraordinary control over her abilities, but I don't think she understands how she does any of it on anything more than an instinctive level. Based on everything I've seen her do, and on my experiments with my own abilities, I have a vague hypothesis as to what is going on with at least some of it. I'd love it if you could help me test it?'

Morgana was a little taken aback. People didn't usually react to her so warmly, even weirdos like Merlin. 'Sure - I'd be happy to help. But what's your theory?' 

'Well, that's the thing. I can't tell you yet,' Merlin replied. 'If I do, it might influence how you act in my tests. But I can write down my theory on a scroll, seal it with wax, and you can open it after we have run my experiments. That way, you know I'm not making up my theory just to fit the results.'

'Okay, I'll bite,' said Morgana, now genuinely interested. 'But once we understand better what's going on, I want to be involved in the hypothesis-forming too. I'm not going to leave it to you to do all the thinking.'

'Of course!' Merlin replied enthusiastically. 'We can pre-register our hypotheses with one another! Look, there's one more thing I should tell you, but you have to promise not to treat me like an insane person after you hear it.' 

Morgana raised her eyebrow archly. 'I'm not going to promise anything, Merlin, and I don't think you would really want me to either. But I will certainly hear you out, and I might even believe you - the last few days have been incredibly eye opening for me.'

'Okay,' Merlin said. 'Now, I know this will sound crazy, but I promise it is all true. I met a dragon under the castle, called Kilgharrah. We talked about biology for a bit, and then he promised to teach me about sorcery. Like, really teach me, in a fundamental sort of way, what sorcery is and where it came from. But, since you… erm… since the Lady Morgana was kidnapped, the security has been intense, and I've been completely unable to visit the dragon to learn anything more from him. I was wondering if Mary could teach me that disguise stuff - I could really use a way to become invisible if it is possible! And, of course, I'd love you to come with me. If you can.'

Morgana grinned. 'If you were looking for someone to believe your mad story, you are talking to the right woman. I have seen Kilgharrah once before - only from a great distance, and under Uther's personal protection. I imagine that only a handful of other people share this knowledge. I'm not even sure Prince Arthur knows of his existence.' Despite herself, Morgana had always been rather proud of that tidbit - as much as she resented Uther's heavy handed stewardship, the fact that he had shown her his captured prize and not his beloved son had always meant something to her somehow. 'If we can find a way to meet this creature,' she continued, 'I would happily join you.'

'Nice!' Merlin replied. He could barely contain his excitement - it was quite endearing really. 'So, do you think you could set up a session with Mary? I don't think she and I started out on the best of terms, and I'm eager to repair that relationship, if I am to learn from her.'

'What did you do?' Morgana asked. 

'Well…' said Merlin, 'I may have accidentally tripped Prince Arthur up in the middle of the market. I made a loose bed sheet wrap its way around his helm. I don't really know how I did it, but it did the trick - he fell flat on his arse, and that was when Mary found me.'

Morgana laughed heartily. It felt good to laugh at her brother's misfortune. 'Well, you can hardly blame her for being angry! You should have knocked him about a bit more, the stuck up little brat! It would serve him right for being such a pompous ass!' 

'To be fair, I think she had a point,' Merlin replied seriously. 'It was exactly the sort of reckless behaviour that Gaius used to tell me off about all the time back at the keep. If I had been caught, it wouldn't have ended well for me, nor for anyone else unlucky enough to be caught in the crossfire.'

Morgana shuddered. She knew only too well how brutally unfair Uther's Iron Law was, and she didn't want to think about it for the time being. 'Look, I think we're getting a bit ahead of ourselves. Let's slow down a bit and work out what we actually need to do.'

'Sorry,' Merlin said. 'Gaius also tells me off for running away with an idea before I have had a chance to consider it fully. So - firstly, we have to test my hypothesis on the nature of sorcery. Secondly, we have the mystery of the dragon, and the related mystery of how to get to the dragon's chamber without being burned alive by your psychotic dad. Does that sum it up?'

'That's about right,' Morgana replied. 'I propose we each take one side of the problem. You work on testing your hypothesis, whatever it is. I'll help, but you're quite right - it would be better if I didn't know what the hypothesis was while we are testing it. I'll get us an audience with the dragon. I have a feeling I can talk Mary round to my way of thinking.'

Without replying, Merlin produced a sheet of paper from his pouch, and quickly scribbled a few lines down onto it. He then folded it up into an envelope and picked up the candle from the centre of the table, allowing a little of the wax to drip and form a seal. 'Here you go,' he said. 'This is my hypothesis. I look forward to working with you, Tenebria - I'm really glad to have somebody to talk to about all this.'

Morgana smiled. She was glad too.


End file.
